


After All

by NatRogers



Series: A Little Favor ‘verse [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Romanogers - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A Little Favor: What If?, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Co-workers, Contracts, F/M, Friendship, New York City, Single Parents, parenting, romanogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatRogers/pseuds/NatRogers
Summary: With their custody agreement officially in effect and a cordial, cross-continent co-parenting relationship established, Steve and Natasha believe that the ghosts of their past are finally buried. So when a work emergency prevents Natasha from visiting New York with their daughter for the holidays, the solution seems simple enough: Steve could spent Christmas with them in London. After all, it’s just for a few days, and what better way is there to spend the most wonderful time of the year than with your family?Or… what if Steve never told Natasha how he truly felt on that roof top, leaving her to move to London with their daughter.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Series: A Little Favor ‘verse [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1153823
Comments: 137
Kudos: 122





	1. Now Here We Are Again (I Guess It Must Be Fate)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You do not have to read [A Little Favor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/34574921) to read this one. However, if you have, and you find yourself wondering where the heck this fic fits in, this is basically what would have happened if it ended before Bucky got to yell at Steve in [Chapter 9: It's Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/36964296). 
> 
> Thank you to [Samtuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samtuma), without whom this story would still be languishing in my writing junkyard. 
> 
> Also, thank you to the crazy talented [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/pseuds/Faith2nyc) for the beautiful artwork! If you're a Romanogers shipper, please do yourself a solid and check out more of her work (and follow her, of course!) on [Tumblr](https://faith2nyc.tumblr.com/), [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/faith2nyc_romanogers/), and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Faith2nyc_IG).
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
>   
> 

In the history of work-life balances, The Daily’s has to be the most bizarre of any company, and Natasha knows that it has nothing to do with the reasonable work hours Pepper is a stickler for implementing. One would truly be hard-pressed to find another work environment where the people get along so seamlessly. Sure, they have their disagreements, and their instincts are always to engage in debate rather than shy away from it, but for the most part, the second the clock strikes five p.m., all spats are forgotten in lieu of brainstorming which watering hole to head to (Dalton’s, always Dalton’s). 

To say that her coworkers are like family seems like a banality on the surface, the type of line an HR Department would print in the welcome packet for a new employee before their first day on the job. But as she stands by the doorway of Tony and Pepper’s living room, watching the very people she works with on a daily basis joyously mingle with members of her actual family, she does not know how else she could possibly define them. These people are the best of the best in the respective subjects, their combined accomplishments the envy of anyone with even a scintilla of ambition to succeed in the media. And yet here they are, holding plates filled with rainbow cake and sporting unicorn party hats, all because these happen to be her daughter’s latest obsession and they’re all powerless to deny her – especially on her first birthday.

In some ways, she knew they would be fond of Isabel, but she never expected them to adore her quite like this – for Thor to bring her a strawberry cupcake every eleventh to celebrate each new month of her life, or for Stephen and Christine to insist that they come over so the latter can personally perform routine checkups, or for Tony to customize a double stroller for when he takes both Isabel and Maria to his workshop. What’s more, they’ve all rallied around her as well, none of them ever more than a text message away when she’s in need of anything, which proved invaluable as she navigated motherhood for the first time.

This outpour of love from a group of people who are not by any stretch obligated to go so above and beyond is an anomaly, she knows. It’s going to take some kind of miracle for her to find another group of genuinely kind people who would go up to bat for her and Isabel. And it’s that very thought that wrests the sadness she’s been trying to keep at bay all day as she ponders how this may be the last time in a long while that they will gather like this. 

“Are you sure you have to go?” 

The question breaks her out of her reverie, and she turns to see Darcy next to her, holding up two forks in one hand and a plate of cake in the other. She chuckles, reaching for the other fork as they both take a bite and moan at the perfection that is Sarah Roger’s baking. “I already paid the security deposit on the flat we’re staying in,” she says. “So that’s going to be a yes.”

“Flat, huh? Look at you, getting in on the lingo,” Darcy teases before groaning. “But until your butt is officially across the pond, it is an apartment. And it is take-out, not take-away. Which, coincidentally, we happen to have the best of here. Where are you going to get your Nom Wah fix in London, Nat, huh? Where?”

“They have a Chinatown there too, last I checked,” she counters, laughing when Darcy rolls her eyes. “Besides, I have to go anyway on the account of me being out of a job. I do have a child to support, you know.”

“First of all, the only reason you’re out of a job is because you got a big promotion,” Darcy says matter-of-factly. “Stupid corporate ladder.”

“Big words coming from the newly minted editor of The Daily’s International section,” she says, suddenly brimming with pride.

“Only because I learned everything from you,” Darcy says quietly before sighing in concession. “Ugh! You better not forget us when you’re out there being a hotshot editor-in-chief. And you better make sure Boss Baby doesn’t forget who her favorite is!”

“Darcy, Darcy, Darcy,” she says, wrapping an arm around the shoulders of the first person to truly become her constant at work. “You are many things, but forgettable is not one of them.”

“Yeah, true,” Darcy concedes easily, causing them both to laugh.

“Speaking of the Boss Baby though,” she says, checking her watch. “It’s almost her bedtime, so I better go make sure none of her grandparents have let her eat all the icing.” 

“I think what you really have to be concerned about is an aunt and uncle helpless over her charms,” Darcy says, smiling knowingly. “Last I saw her she was in the kitchen with Bucky and Wanda.”

She’s about to thank her, but before she can, Darcy’s already running towards the center of the living room at Thor’s roaring announcement that a game of Pictionary is about to commence. For a second, she allows herself a moment to watch the pandemonium unfold as her friends – her fully grown adult friends, no less – vie for the positions of team captains. “Hooligans,” she says, shaking her head fondly before making a beeline for the kitchen. She pokes her head in, finding Bucky and Wanda poring over the cheese and cold cuts selection laid out on the island before knocking on the wall to get their attention. “Any of you know where Izzie is?”

“Nat!” Bucky exclaims, “you have to try this cheese. It smells like something died in it, but it’s so damn delicious!”

She tilts her head to the side, the corner of her mouth tugging up in amusement. “Maybe later, Buck.” 

“Ignore him. He’s inhaled too much cheese,” Wanda says over the rim of her wine glass before pointing upwards. “Steve took her upstairs for a diaper change.”

“Thank you,” she says, turning to leave. She makes it to the stairs, climbing it two steps at a time until she reaches the top and stops in front of the framed collage of Maria on the wall. As her eyes scan the plethora of pictures, she can’t help but smile. She’s seen this frame countless times before, can practically name where each photo was taken and how old her goddaughter is in every one of them, but for some reason, she finds herself lingering before it, as if she needs to recommit everything to her memory lest she forget. She gives herself another minute, and with a sigh, forces herself to look away and walk down the familiar path to the nursery. 

“Do you know how much Daddy loves you?”

Steve’s words stop her dead in her tracks, and through the door left cracked open, she catches a glimpse of him sitting on the rocking chair with Isabel across his lap, their daughter staring up at him as he feeds her a bottle. The sight of them gazing affectionately at each other punches the breath out of her lungs, and it’s only by instinct that she moves out of view, pressing her back against the nearest wall.

“I don’t even know if I have the right words to describe how much,” she hears Steve confess with a little chuckle, to which Isabel coos, and in her heart of hearts, she knows that she should not be eavesdropping on this moment – it isn’t hers, and yet, she finds herself unable to move. “I guess it’s a good thing that you don’t understand me all that well yet, so I have some time to figure them out...” He sighs, long and winded. “Though, if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I ever will. There couldn’t possibly be words in existence that will encapsulate how much I love every little inch of you.” Steve’s voice cracks by the end, followed closely by a sniffle. “I’m going to miss you like crazy, fig. And I’ll call you all the time, so please don’t forget Daddy while you’re over there, okay? You’re my whole world, baby girl…” 

The hallway and the stairs and the foyer are all a blur as she bolts, the air around her suddenly too thick. She makes it out the front door, but by the time she gets to the bottom step of the brownstone, her legs feel too heavy to keep herself upright and she slumps down, placing her head in her hands as the Summer night’s air blows by and the sound of the traffic on the Upper East Side rings ambiently around her. She sighs. Steve’s words weren’t even meant for her to hear. It shouldn’t affect her this way – shouldn’t hurt her this way – especially when they’re full of adulation for their daughter. And yet, it’s as if she’s taken another dagger to her already crippled heart.

“Natasha.”

She looks up in time to see her mother take a seat next to her, and in the warmth of Melinda’s embrace, she finally lets the tears fall. “Would you believe me if I said I was just tired?”

“Oh, Nat,” Melinda says, reaching over to thumb her tears away. “You don’t have to do this. You know that, right?”

“Only I do,” she says, the words tumbling out of her mouth almost immediately. “He’s had a year. Heck, he’s had more than that to say something, give me a sign.” Melinda’s expression softens at her words, and she knows that it’s because despite offering her a way out only moments ago, Melinda’s one of the few people who knows she’s right. It’s been too long since that fateful night she asked Steve if she had a reason to stay, only to be met by silence. It was damning then, and it’s even more so in the time that’s passed since they’d agreed to postpone both her move to London and the implementation of their custody agreement until Isabel turned one. If he wanted her, if he felt even a fraction for her of what she felt for him, he had countless opportunities and ample time to say so. But now here they are, their daughter past her first year of life, and a day away from each of them getting her six months out of the year. She shakes her head. “He loves her so much. That’s more than I could have ever asked for, and in some ways, that’s always been the deal.” She turns to Melinda, smiling sadly. “I can’t keep hoping anymore. I have to move on.” 

With a sad smile, Melinda drops a kiss to her temple. “Okay.” 

* * *

In the months leading up to this day, there were countless times Natasha had caught herself imaging how it would play out. She expected a tear or two to be shed – Sarah and Melinda being the most obvious culprits – but at the very least, she thought the massive crowds at JFK would prove a compelling enough reason for them to not only keep it together, but also to keep their goodbyes short and sweet. But here, on the tarmac in Teterboro, with the Stark Industries jet before her and her entire family close by, she realizes that this is quickly morphing into her worst-case scenario – drawn out goodbyes, too many sad eyes, and her heart feeling all too heavy in her chest.

“You tell T’Challa that I will never forgive him for this.”

Pepper’s words elicit a laugh from her. “Oh please,” she says, scoffing even as she wraps her arms tighter around Pepper and pretends not to feel the warmth of the tear that drips down to her shoulder. “If you were at all capable of holding a grudge, the three of us would’ve stopped being friends long ago.”

“That was before he plotted to steal my best friend from me,” Pepper mumbles, making them both laugh. “Do you realize that this is the first time since college that we’re not going to live within a subway’s ride from each other?”

“We’ll drop by for Christmas,” she offers quietly, unable to trust that her voice won’t falter if she dares answer the question directly. Over Pepper’s shoulder, her eyes quickly glance at the group by the stairs of the jet – Sarah, Nick and Melinda, and Bucky and Wanda all gathered around Steve and Isabel – and she finds herself relieved that she had already said her lengthy goodbyes to most of them last night. She takes a step back from Pepper as she says, “These next six months will fly by.”

“Alright, alright,” Tony interjects as he comes up next to them with Maria on his hip. “Let’s not act like there’s not going to be a Stark Industries emergency in the London office in two weeks that only the CEO can solve.” He eyes Pepper and then her knowingly before nodding towards the jet. “Best not to misuse company property more than we already are.”

She rolls her eyes, breaking away from Pepper’s embrace completely. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you the one who insisted on this whole spectacle?”

“You were gonna fly commercial,” Tony says, his expression twisting in disgust. “We’re not savages, Red.” 

Her lips quirk up at that. To anyone else, Tony’s quip drips with arrogance and reeks of privilege from a life defined by exuberant wealth. But she’s known the man for over a decade now, and though most of the time his tact leaves much to be desired, she understands him enough to know how to read between the lines. Their friendship has never been defined by heartfelt tête-à-têtes, and part of her is glad that he doesn’t seem keen on starting that now. Nevertheless, she knows that making sure she and Isabel are nothing short of exceedingly comfortable on an already difficult trip, is Tony’s ultimate way of showing just how much he cares.

“Come here,” she says, stepping forward to engulf both him and Maria in a hug. 

“Oh, we’re doing this?” Tony says. “Okay, we’re really doing this.” She ignores him, but it only takes a beat before she feels his free arm wrap around her as well, squeezing back. When they pull away, he has his signature smirk on his face. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

She chuckles just as she drops a kiss to Maria’s forehead. “Bye sweetheart,” she tells her goddaughter before turning back to Tony, raising an eyebrow at him. “Does that list even exist?”

Tony winks at her, prompting Pepper to shake her head at the both of them. “Indeed, it does not,” Pepper says, linking arms with her. “Come on.”

The pit in her stomach that she’s been trying to ignore since she got up this morning rears its ugly head once more. _It’s for the best,_ she reminds herself. These four words have become her mantra ever since she uttered them that night in Steve’s office when she had first given him the custody agreement, and though her heart had never felt as eviscerated as it had in that moment, the fact that she’s only minutes away from jetting off to a different continent is testament to the fact that there’s truth in it. That, despite all that she’d hoped would change, this is how their lives must play out if they are to make their arrangement work. She sucks in a breath at the thought, at the finality of it all, and as she huffs out, the reassuring squeeze from Pepper grounds her enough to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Sarah is the first to notice them as they near, and she’s quick to offer her a warm smile before turning to Steve, whispering in his ear and giving Isabel one last kiss. “Be safe, darling,” Sarah says when she makes her way over to her, cupping her face in her hands. “And please, don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” she says, smiling earnestly. “Thank you, Sarah.” Sarah’s barely stepped away from her when she feels two pairs of arms wrap around her simultaneously, and she can’t help but laugh when she finds herself sandwiched between Nick and Melinda. “Sucking up all my oxygen here, guys.”

“Call us the second you land,” Melinda orders. “And not a second later, you hear? We have your flight plan.”

“Or by God, I will order an F-35 to come find you,” Nick adds. 

She scoffs. “You’ve been saying that since I was sixteen.”

“It was true then and it’s even truer now that you’re taking my grandbaby with you,” Nick says, eyeing her pointedly. “Don’t try me.”

“Fine,” she says, chuckling softly. “We’ll FaceTime you the second we land. How’s that?”

“Excellent,” Melinda says, hugging her tightly once more. “Our girl, we love you so.” 

“Love you too,” she says to each of them. 

Wanda and Bucky are last in line, and as she accepts a hug from the former and a kiss on the cheek from the latter, she begins to make her way towards the landing of the stairs where Steve stands cradling a sleeping Isabel. She stops a foot short of them, tucking her hands into her pockets and mustering the best smile she can. “We should get going.” 

Steve nods, turning to nuzzle the top of Isabel’s head. “Be a good girl for momma, okay?” he says, and she has to avert her gaze elsewhere at the way his voice breaks at the end. “Daddy loves you so much, fig.”

Just as she had the night before, she finds herself once again an intruder in a moment she has no business being a part of as she listens to Steve whisper sweet nothings to their daughter. But despite the feeling of being so unwelcome, so unwanted, she swallows it all down along with the lump that’s formed in her throat in an attempt to keep it together. It’s only when she hears Steve mutter a soft okay that she dares look back, watching as he steps forward to place Isabel into her arms. “Shh,” she says gently when Isabel stirs at the movement, carefully shifting her so she can rest her head on her shoulder before turning to Steve. “I’ll text you when we land and again when we get to our flat, so you know she’s safe.”

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, letting a beat pass before shaking his head. “Natasha…” 

For a moment, she can only stand there, letting his utterance of her name hang in the air between them. Where she finds the courage to look in his eyes, she isn’t certain, but she does. The pain in them is clear as the sky above them, but for whom it’s for, she can only surmise. Surely, for being separated for the next six months from their daughter, who’s oblivious to the loaded silence between them as she slumbers peacefully against her. And though she knows she shouldn’t, she lets herself wonder – wish, really – if only for a fraction of a second, and perhaps for the last time, that maybe that pain is for her, too. And that maybe, just maybe, now he would say the words she’s been longing to hear.

Steve sighs, and she holds her breath as he leans down to kiss her cheek. “Knock ‘em dead, Natasha Romanoff.”

Her eyes fall shut at that, and though he’s close enough that she can smell the familiar scent of his cologne and feel the warmth of his skin, they might as well be continents apart already. “Thanks,” she whispers, giving him a final nod before she turns to ascend the stairs.

There’s only the whirr of the jet taxiing towards the runway as she settles further back against the softness of the leather seat. Across her chest, Isabel sleeps peacefully, her curls glowing russet in the sunlight streaming through the window and her weight a welcome distraction from the hollowness burrowing deep inside of her, settling in. By now, she realizes, the sensation is just an old friend. She sighs, running her hand up and down Isabel’s back, holding her closer. “It’s just you and me, fig.”

* * *

_I’m not freaking out, you are!_

Steve’s brow arches as he reads the words in the blue bubble, and he does not waste time pressing down on the file attachment, eagerly waiting for the video to take up the entirety of the screen. Once it does, Isabel comes into view, sporting a gray Dodgers jersey with her hair pulled up in two symmetric pigtails as she clings onto the edge of a coffee table. The sight pulls his lips up into a beaming smile, all but threatening to split his face. 

“Come to momma, fig,” he hears Natasha encourage in the background. “You can do it!”

Despite Natasha’s message alluding to the fact that this had been a fruitful exercise, he finds himself holding his breath as he watches Isabel blink, her eyebrows furrowing in suspicion as if she’s contemplating her mother’s words. On the lower part of the screen, her foot inches forward ever so slightly, though whether it is to test the waters or tease her mother, he can only guess. But then her dubious expression fades as quickly as it had come, making way for a toothy grin, and then his eyes widen as he witnesses her take one wobbly step and then trot the rest of the way.

“Yay!” Natasha cheers, eliciting an elated giggle from Isabel, and he can’t help but laugh along as the camera flips to show Natasha with Isabel now on her lap. “We’re walking!” 

He types back a quick _Yes!_ followed by _But also, uh oh! 😬_ before pressing play on the video once more, this time watching Isabel walk on her own without the nervousness that had plagued him only moments ago. It seems ridiculous – though he’s willing to bet that most parents feel the same way – but he feels pride surge right through him. Isabel was just beginning to get the hang of walking while her hands were being held up during her first birthday, and now, less than six months later, she’s already cruising along by herself. Time, he muses, truly does zip on by.

Placing his phone down on the counter, he stops to ponder his last thought. If there’s one thing he’s come to realize about time, it is that it can be a real conundrum – moving faster than you wish it would when you least want it to and slowing down to an agonizing crawl when you’re all but begging for it to fly. Only, these two facets seemed to be happening simultaneously in the last six months since his custody agreement with Natasha had taken effect. On one hand, Isabel is growing and changing faster than he can keep up with, becoming her own person with every day that passes. But at the same time, it feels as if his turn to have her, to witness these milestones unfold in real time, is an eternity away.

“I don’t like that face. Not one bit.”

He turns towards the sound of the voice, chuckling when he sees his mother walking into his kitchen, a box from her bakery in hand. “So much for a face only a mother can love.”

“Of course I love that face,” Sarah says, setting the box and her purse down on the island before hopping on the stool next to his. “I made it.” Sarah snickers as he rolls his eyes. “What I don’t love is when it’s all broody and scrunched up” – she points to his head – “means something’s going on up there.” 

With a sigh, he unlocks his phone, opening the video back up before pushing it towards Sarah. His mother squeals upon seeing her granddaughter, picking up the device to get a closer look. “She’s gotten so big!” she says, her eyes on the screen. “Goodness, she’s walking. Really walking!”

“She finally fit into the jersey Thor gave her before she was born, too,” he adds, shaking his head in disbelief. “Now it’s just right.” It’s probably the tone of his voice – crestfallen, though he hadn’t meant for it to come out that way – that causes Sarah to look at him, her eyes rueful. He waves off her concern. “I’m fine, ma. Some days are just harder than most. Technology’s great and all, but I still feel like I’m missing so much. And now...”

Sarah reaches over to place her hand over his. “I’m sorry they’re not going to make it for Christmas, darling.” 

“It’s fine,” he repeats. While he isn’t due to have Isabel until after New Years’, with some cajolery from Melinda, Nick, and Pepper, Natasha had agreed that she and Isabel would come visit for Christmas. That’d been the plan even before they left for London almost six months ago, and if he’s being completely honest, it’s been the day he’s been counting down to since. But then an emergency at Natasha’s work came up, preventing her and Isabel from traveling until after the holiday and successfully upending everything he had been looking forward to. He sighs. “It’s still technically Natasha’s time with her and she was being really magnanimous about sharing Izzie for Christmas anyway.” He swipes his hand out, as if to dismiss his melancholy, but even that is half-hearted. “I was just really looking forward to it, you know? Bucky already bought her a beanie with Reindeer antlers that light up and I thought maybe she could still see the Rockefeller tree.”

“Still might,” Sarah says, to which he gives a non-committal nod. “They don’t take it down right away anyway. But have you maybe considered asking Natasha if you can fly there for Christmas?”

“What?” he nearly spits out the word in surprise, tilting his head to the side as he looks at his mother like she’s grown three heads. “What’re- I mean, what in the world makes you think she’d agree to that?”

This time, it’s Sarah’s turn to look at him incredulously. “You two have been getting along great these past few months, haven’t you?”

“We text about Izzie,” he says, “and yes, Natasha’s there when we FaceTime too, but that’s because she has to hold up the phone on the account of Izzie wanting to put everything in her mouth. That is not the same as getting along great.” He sits up straighter, shaking his head. “Besides, spending Christmas together? In London? That’s not even remotely in our-”

“Oh please,” Sarah interrupts. “I don’t care what you two have written down in your contract-”

“Custody agreement,” he corrects.

“Semantics,” Sarah counters. “Like it or not, you and Natasha are forever bonded by the beautiful baby girl you two brought into this world. That makes you family, and families spend Christmas together.” Sarah shrugs, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip and seemingly deliberating her next words. “Unless…”

He looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to continue. “Unless?”

“Steven, hon, you know I don’t like to pry,” Sarah says carefully. “But ever since… well, okay. I suppose I thought that maybe things between you and Natasha… especially after Izzie was born… I thought maybe you two would give it a chance. But then nothing happened, and I said I’d leave you two to it. It’s your lives. But now she’s over there, making a life for herself and you know what? Good on her. But then I see you, and I… It just seems to me like you’re stuck. And I feel like I’ve seen this before, so I have to ask… Do you maybe still have feelings for Natasha?”

His eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “That is not what-”

“And that is not an answer.”

“I…” he begins, only to pause to collect his thoughts. “I have had the tremendous opportunity of curating for a successful gallery and overseeing its expansions. And that is on top of my day job at the paper and making sure I am pulling my weight as a co-parent. I’m barely in the same place for five minutes, so quite frankly, ma, by definition I think that’s the opposite of being stuck.” When Sarah’s pointed glance does not let up, he sighs. “Look… if the lack of two more seats at our Christmas table this year is any indication, I’d say my feelings weren’t any good on a one-way street. If I were stuck, I’d still be standing on it, but like I just said...”

Sarah puts her hands up. “Well, if all the hatchets are buried…” she says as she moves off the stool and slings her purse over her shoulder. “No harm in asking then, is there?” She reaches over to the counter, pushing his phone back to him and nodding towards the screen. “You don’t get any of these moments back, Steve. So if there’s any chance you can be a part of them instead of watching from afar, try.” With a smile, she leans in to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you Sunday at brunch.” 

Sleep eludes him later that night as he watches the shadows dance across the ceiling, his mind replaying the conversation he had with Sarah. As he ruminates on its substance, he’s suddenly transported back to that night almost two years ago when Natasha had received her award from the Journalists’ Guild. At that point, their relationship had plunged into this strange and confusing pitfall. They had gone from living together as Natasha recovered from her awful fall, falling into domestic bliss as they did, to her serving him a custody agreement in his office seemingly in a blink of an eye. When he approached her that night for a dance, all he truly wanted was to erase the distance and the silence that had grown between them. But sometime in the middle of them swaying along to a soft string tune, she had informed him that she was going to take the job in London, and as he remembers how her words had made him feel then, hurt washes over him anew. She had pulled the rug from underneath him, sending him into free fall that, by the time she was accusing him of having never wanted their child in the first place, and asking him if she had a reason to stay, he was frozen. Speechless. Powerless to stop her from walking away and disappearing into the crowd.

Navigating their relationship after that night was incredibly difficult. They were both hurt, and understandably so, but giving each other space became nearly impossible when Natasha’s pregnancy spurned more health complications. They weren’t grave, thankfully, but it was enough to bring them to the sober realization that regardless of what had transpired between them, they couldn’t let their feelings get in the way of prioritizing the one thing that meant the world to the both of them. And by the time Isabel was born, the effort they’d both put in to make their circumstances work was so much that he told himself that it did not matter that his feelings for Natasha were not only lingering, but also brewing deep – rocking the boat was the last thing the three of them needed.

Further, what he had told his mother hadn’t been a lie. Feelings are no good on a one-way street. Perhaps there was a point where Natasha had felt the same way about him as he felt about her, but that was all moot now. In the end, she had gotten on the plane to London, and though he wanted nothing more than to tell her how he truly felt as they said their goodbyes at the airport, he still did not know with a certainty if that would have been enough. That, his love was a compelling enough reason for her to forego an opportunity that she’d been working towards her whole life. So instead, he told her the one thing he knew she’d do anyway – go and succeed. And if the reviews of the paper she’s helming and their cordial co-parenting relationship are anything to go by, it’s clear that staying mum was the right call. 

It’s then that the merit of Sarah’s earlier argument becomes clear. While spending Christmas together isn’t something they’ve ever discussed, with the both of them moving forward, perhaps there really was no harm in asking. Perhaps what’s in the past can stay in the past. Perhaps Christmas didn’t have to be so somber this year.

Before he can change his mind, he reaches for his phone. 

* * *

Natasha holds her breath as she creeps out into the hallway, relief crashing down on her like a ton of bricks when she successfully clicks the door shut without hearing a cry. With a sigh, she brings a hand up to the bridge of her nose, pinching down and letting her eyes fall shut in exhaustion. Isabel’s been restless the last couple of days, waking up intermittently and distraught for reasons that she cannot seem to figure out. To top it all off, despite the holidays fast approaching, her workload only seems to grow exponentially, and with the recent lack of sleep, the fatigue is getting harder to stave off.

With a heavy exhale, she straightens up, willing herself back to her living room and to where she left her laptop on the couch. The words on the open document on her screen are ones she’s read enough times that she can recite them verbatim from memory, and yet, as she tries to come up with the next sentence, her mind draws a blank. With a groan, she pushes her screen down shut. Writing has always been her outlet of choice, allowing her to clear her head by losing herself in the topic of her current piece, and for it to fail her now when she’s most in need of a catharsis, she can’t help but feel even more untethered.

The ding of her phone cuts through the silence, and she looks towards where it’s resting on the cushion to see an email notification pop up. Picking it up, she glides a finger over the bubble on the screen and sighs when she sees the subject line read: **URGENT – Meeting w/ PR tomorrow**

Without reading the contents, she closes her email app, deciding that at two in the morning, she just does not have the mental bandwidth to deal with any more work woes. But as she does, her photo stream appears, and a video begins to play. The camera zooms in, showing Steve carefully lifting a six-month-old Isabel up to blow bubbles on her belly, and she stops to watch Isabel giggle. In her desperation to soothe Isabel tonight, she had decided to play the video as she rocked her to sleep, and much to her relief, it had worked. Within minutes, and with Steve’s voice on loop in the background, Isabel had finally gone to bed.

It’s when the frame switches to Steve and Isabel playing peek-a-boo that she finds her throat tightening. When she had moved six months ago, she had believed that not only was it the right decision, but also that the challenge of a new job and readjusting to a different country would aid her in moving on. But as Isabel’s soft coos and Steve’s laughter from the video fills the room, the sounds only seem to further underscore how big and empty her flat feels.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the audio cutting off, and she glares at the screen in anticipation of another work-related email, but her eyes only widen in surprise when she sees a text from Steve.

 _Hey, do you have time to talk tomorrow morning (late afternoon your time)?  
_ _Just had a question…_

As she reads the text, her eyebrows furrow. While they communicate several times a week, it’s only so he can video chat with Isabel or so she can send him Isabel’s latest photo. It’s not like him to shoot her a text out of the blue, and it’s even more so unusual for him to be vague about the subject. She bites her lip as she contemplates a reply, typing something out only to delete it. By her fourth attempt, her mind begins to race with a deluge of questions. With a huff, she puts her phone down, and finds herself almost grateful when she catches the porch light next door flicker on through her window. Hurriedly, she gets up, running through her foyer and hastily throwing her door open just as her neighbor is about to place their key into the lock. 

“Any chance you’re up for a nightcap?” she asks, biting her lip. 

Her neighbor turns, looking every bit as tired as any reasonable person returning home at this hour should. Nevertheless, he smirks. “When you’re offering?” he asks. “Always.”

“Long week, huh?” she asks later on as they sit on her couch, each clutching a glass of wine.

“Endless,” he says as he angles to face her. “Two back-to-back shifts with a twelve-hour surgery somewhere in between that nearly went critical, to be exact.”

“Nothing the great Dr. Laufeyson couldn’t handle, I’m sure,” she says, eyeing him knowingly.

“The patient survived, if that’s what you’re alluding to,” Loki says, prompting them both to laugh.

Her gaze falls to her wine, watching the dark liquid swirl as she rotates the glass in her hand. “Must be nice, though,” she says, “knowing what you do saves lives.” She looks over at him as she adds, “That of children, especially.”

“It is,” he agrees. “They’re wonderful and pure, as I’m sure you know. Not yet privy to the trickery and harshness of the world at large like we adults are... But that’s a conversation for a different time.” He takes a sip of his wine before arching a brow at her. “So, tell me, Miss Romanoff. What is it that has you keeping me from my bed?”

She scoffs. “Didn’t realize I had the power to make you do things you didn’t want to do.”

“I’d do anything for you and that little angel of yours,” he says before shrugging. “You know that.”

Loki’s words bring a smile to her face. For all her struggles in the last six months, meeting and getting to know him has been one of the bright spots that’s kept her going. That, and the fact that he lives next door and is up at ungodly hours like she is, is convenient – especially on nights like this when she could really use someone to talk to. It’s with that reminder that she sighs and goes about catching him up on everything that’s been plaguing her mind since the last time she saw him. When she finally gets to Steve’s text, she hands him her phone. “I’m probably just over analyzing it,” she says. “For all I know, he probably just wants to FaceTime with Izzie more.”

“Then why not just get to it then?” Loki challenges. “Natasha, let’s be honest about what this is really about.” 

She shakes her head. “I just said that he-”

“I don’t mean about him,” Loki says, sighing when she stares confusedly at him. “You’ve basically just admitted to missing the man-”

“I said no such thing!” 

Loki shoots her a withering look. “Do you’ve any idea how many parents deny how much sugar they’ve fed their kids as I hold the results of their child’s blood work in my hands?” He scoffs. “It’s easy to say things, Natasha, but you cannot deny what is so. I assume you sulking in the dark and watching videos of him and Izzie aren’t just because you’re feeling nostalgic.”

“What do you want me to say, Loki?” she asks. “That I’m freaking out about this because I’m... lonely? Tired? Tipsy?” She chuckles, but it’s humorless, hollow. Her voice is barely above a whisper as she adds, “or that moving thousands of miles away was for nothing seeing as I’m still so pathetically in love with someone who clearly doesn’t love me back and who can seemingly pull me apart with a single text?”

“Only if that’s the truth,” Loki says, making her shoulders sag in defeat. “Natasha, I didn’t mean to upset you.” He takes her hand in his, causing her to look at him. “I simply wanted you to be honest about what’s at play here.” He sighs. “I don’t claim to know what or how he feels. And for that matter, what you truly do, and I will not pry. But what I do know is that you are smart, strong, gorgeous, and any man would be lucky to have you. The ones that don’t see that? They’re idiots and they don’t deserve you.” Her lips quirk at that, and he smiles. “Remember that the next time you think one text from someone can pull you apart, hm?”

Loki punctuates his words with a gentle squeeze to her hand, and as she lets the gravity of his sentiment sink in, she nods. “Thanks,” she says, laughing when he only winks and brings her hand up to kiss her knuckles. 

By the time Loki bids her goodnight and she makes it to bed, her mind feels a little clearer. Maybe she’s right and that whatever it is Steve wants to ask her is something as small as wanting more time to talk to Isabel, but the reality is that she’ll never know if she doesn’t find out. And if it turns out to be something that takes a wrecking ball to her heart all over again, if what Loki said is anything to go by, then maybe she isn’t giving herself enough credit. She has made it this far – scars and all.

With that in mind, she reaches for her phone and searches for Steve’s message to type out her reply.

_Sure! Talk to you then._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **UPDATES ONCE A WEEK!**
> 
> Also, in case you were wondering (though you probably weren't, let's be honest), I've been on a Tom Hiddleston filmography binge lately, so while Loki is indeed here, in my head he's actually Jonathan Pine from The Night Manager. :-)
> 
> If you’re interested, you can read A Little Favor, the original story, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/34574921).
> 
> For previews and update announcements on this fic (or if you just want to say hi!), follow me on Tumblr: [natrogersfics](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/)


	2. Every Memory Repeats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Samtuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samtuma) for beating these chapters into shape and to [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/pseuds/Faith2nyc) for bringing these chapters to life visually! I am endlessly grateful to you both for the time you've invested in this story, but even more so for your friendship. :-) 
> 
> For more Romanogers edits, visit [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/pseuds/Faith2nyc)'s accounts on [Tumblr](https://faith2nyc.tumblr.com/), [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/faith2nyc_romanogers/), and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Faith2nyc_IG)!
> 
> Happy reading!

Toddlers are an enigma. That much is clear to Natasha. Compared to infants, they’re leaps and bounds more amusing. But they’re terribly difficult to gauge – they long for independence, yet knowing exactly how much to give without under or overwhelming them is anyone's guess. That limbo in particular is one of the more complicated aspects of parenting she’s learning to navigate, both emotionally and logistically. For as much as she’s excited to see what else is to come of Isabel’s burgeoning personality, there are days where she finds herself longing for the little cuddle bug who willingly gave her its complete cooperation without so much as a peep. And right now, as she sits on the play mat in her living room trying to get a sweater over her squirming daughter’s head, she notes that today happens to be one of those days. 

“Mama, ‘nuff!” she hears Isabel protest, her voice muffled by the soft cotton.

“Almost done, fig,” she says as she successfully gets Isabel’s head through the collar. “Tada!” Despite her enthusiasm, Isabel does not look the least bit amused, and as she leans forward to try to smooth the curls on her head that got ruffled in the process, the little girl dodges her hand with artful precision to reach for her blocks. With a shake of her head, she feels for her phone behind her, holding it up to point the camera at Isabel. “Okay, what do you think of this one?”

On screen, Pepper can only sigh. “It looks great. As did the first two sweaters you put on her.”

“But this one is cuter,” she reasons, zooming in on the embroidered flowers at the hem. “Look!”

“Nat,” Pepper says, her lips pressing into a line. “She’s spending the day with her father, not going to meet the Queen.”

“Maybe not intentionally,” she says. “This is London, after all. You never know when you’ll run into Her Majesty.”

“Natasha.” Pepper’s stern tone causes her to bite her lip, and when she musters the courage to look back at the screen, she finds her best friend regarding her carefully. “Are you having second thoughts about letting Steve come out to visit?”

“No,” she says, sighing at the way Pepper narrows her eyes. “I’m not, okay? And even if I was, it’s too late anyway. He’s literally on his way. It’s just- It’s not like there’s protocol for spending Christmas with your…” She puts her hand out, as if doing so would make the end of her sentence magically come to mind. But when you ask someone to have a child with you, and you end up falling in love with them, only for them to break your heart into a million little pieces later on when they don’t reciprocate your feelings, knowing what to accurately call them is complicated, to say the least. She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. It’s just unconventional, is what I’m saying.” Pepper’s lips part to speak, no doubt about her ironic choice of adjective, so she holds up a finger before she can. “Not a word.”

“Okay, okay,” Pepper acquiesces. “Just wanted to make sure that weirdness is the only reason you put my goddaughter through three outfit changes and not… other things.” 

“Trust me, Pep, those other things have been pushed so far back into the closet they’re in Narnia,” she says quietly. All her worries that night Steve had sent her a text turned out to be for nothing. She’d expected something big and life-altering, maybe news that he’d moved on and he wanted Isabel there for his wedding, but as it turned out, it was only a request to spend Christmas with them. “Anyway, it does not matter how weirded out I am by the circumstances. I got hurt... Maybe he did, too.” She lets her eyes linger to the mat where Isabel is still happily entertaining herself before shaking her head. “But that’s all water under the bridge now, and when possible, our daughter deserves to be with both her parents for Christmas. That’s why I agreed to this.”

“Well, I’m proud of you for being so mature about all this,” Pepper says. “I know it’s not easy.”

“It is what it is,” she says dismissively, giving Pepper a one-shouldered shrug. It’s only when the doorbell rings that her brave façade slips, her eyes widening involuntarily. 

“It’ll be fine, Nat,” Pepper says, offering her a reassuring smile. “Talk to you soon.”

With a two-fingered salute, she cuts the video, placing her phone in her back pocket and stealing another glance at Isabel to make sure she’s sufficiently preoccupied. Satisfied, she huffs out a breath and gives her reflection a cursory glance at the mirror, tucking a tendril of hair back as she makes her way to the front door. She reaches for the knob, putting on her best smile as she pulls it open. 

“Hey,” Steve greets, smiling brightly as he stands at her front door dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket. 

“You shaved,” she blurts out, inwardly cursing at how quickly the words had fallen out of her mouth.

To her relief, he chuckles. “Oh yeah,” he says, reaching a hand up to his jaw. “I grew it out again for a bit there, but I know Izzie’s not a fan of it, so…”

“She might be a little more amenable now,” she says, though it comes across more like she’s wondering aloud, so she adds, “not that you need a beard or anything.”

“Yeah, no, it would be nice to get to keep it,” he says, gesturing to their surroundings, “especially when it gets cold like this.” His excitement is palpable as he cranes his neck slightly, as if to peek behind her. “Is she awake?”

“Oh, yes! Sorry, please come in.” She steps aside, opening the door wider to let him through. “You got in late last night, right? How was your flight?”

“I did, and it was okay,” he says as he follows her down the foyer. “The customs line at Heathrow, though, a little less so.”

She looks over her shoulder to shoot him a look of sympathy, knowing full well what that headache is like. “She just got up from her morning nap about an hour ago,” she says as they walk into the living room, and she does not have to turn around to know that the faint gasp Steve lets out is in awe of the sight of Isabel pushing her little vacuum cleaner around before them. “Izzie, baby, look who’s here.”

Isabel looks up at the sound of her voice, freezing in place as her eyes go from her and then to Steve, who steps forward and crouches down, opening his arms as he reaches for her. “Hi, fig!” 

A smile grazes her lips when Isabel begins to scamper over at Steve’s greeting, but it quickly fades – as does Steve’s elated expression – when their daughter moves past him to hide behind her legs instead. “Hey, it’s okay,” she says automatically, bending down to collect Isabel, who buries her face into her neck, into her arms. She turns to Steve. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know-”

“No,” he says placatingly, and though he tries to blink away the hurt in his eyes, she catches it all the same. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have assumed-”

“No, you were fine,” she says in her most reassuring voice. “She’s usually really friendly, but her quirks change every day now, it seems.” Steve nods at her, and she turns towards Isabel, dusting a kiss to the crown of her head and rubbing a hand soothingly up and down her back. “It’s okay, fig. It’s just Daddy.” When Isabel looks up at her, she reaches into her pocket, showing her the phone. “We talk all the time, remember? And we read stories before bedtime…” 

Isabel looks at the phone in her hand and then at her, her big blue eyes skeptical. “Dada?”

“Yes, yes,” she says excitedly, eyeing Steve over Isabel’s head as she mouths, “talk to her.”

“Hi, Izzie,” Steve says, prompting Isabel to peek shyly at him. He smiles. “It’s me, Daddy. Remember? On the phone we said in two more sleeps we were gonna go on adventures?”

It’s with bated breath that she waits for Isabel’s reaction. The little girl purses her lips, and it’s almost by instinct that she braces herself for a meltdown, but instead, she finds herself nearly sighing in relief when Isabel leans forward and reaches for Steve. “Dada!”

“Yes, baby girl, Dada!” Steve says as he takes Isabel into his arms, standing and beaming from ear to ear when she wraps her arms around his neck. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much!” He kisses her cheek as he moves to settle her against his hip. “How’s my girl?”

“I play!” Isabel exclaims, her words promptly descending into gibberish as she goes on and on. 

She watches as Steve nods along amusedly, barely containing his smile as he listens to Isabel talk. “Yeah, so…” she interjects, prompting Steve to look her way. “You’ll get about two, maybe three actual words from her before you have to use context clues and the Science of Deduction to figure out the rest.”

Steve laughs. “That’s about as much as I get from Tony, so I think I’ll manage.”

“Touché,” she says, chuckling when Isabel demands to be put down and stalks back to her mat. She points a thumb over her shoulder. “Can I get you something to drink before you guys leave? There’s still some coffee in the pot if you want some.”

Steve nods, and as they walk the short distance to her kitchen, she notices how he immediately positions himself by the counter overlooking the living room. “Still not a tea person, huh?”

Her expression sours as she begins to pour him a cup, eliciting a laugh from him. “I don’t think the British government will appreciate me becoming a menace to society.”

He smirks as he accepts the mug from her. “How’s work?”

“It’s… going,” she says, shrugging at the questioning look he sends her. “T’Challa, Nakia, and I finally got the company up and running both on paper and digital, but you know how it is when the truth ruffles some feathers.”

“Hmm,” he says, nodding in acknowledgement. “Same S-H-I-T, different continent, huh?” 

“She can’t hear you,” she says with an amused smile as she goes to rinse the pot in the sink. “But basically, yes. We ran a piece about a member of Parliament and some of his unsavory practices. Nothing but the truth there, but it’s not being received well, which is why Izzie and I couldn't make it back in time for Christmas.” 

“I kinda figured the article would have them clutching their pearls.” 

She turns to him, surprised. “You read The Pioneer?”

“Yeah,” he says, “I-” 

The unmistakable clang of metal as it hits the ground interrupts him, followed immediately by Isabel’s proclamation of _oh no_ , and that’s enough to send them both racing out of the kitchen and back into the living room to see Isabel standing over the now scattered tin of cookies that was sitting on the coffee table. 

She turns to Steve, crossing her arms over her chest. “By the way, she likes knocking things over for S-H-I-T-S and giggles now, too.”

He cringes. “Any chance her vacuum cleaner actually works?” 

It’s after the crumbs in her living room are sorted out and they both manage to convince their daughter to put and keep her shoes on that she stands outside her front door, watching as Steve swings the baby bag over his shoulder and picks Isabel up. 

“Anything else about this one that I should know before we go?” Steve asks, jostling Isabel slightly in emphasis. 

“Let’s see…” she says, “well, she hates socks with a ferocity. I did you a solid by getting them on, but if for any reason you have to take them off, know that you’re never going to get them on again. Also, nine times out of ten her answer to anything is no, so use your discretion when seeking her opinion.” Steve’s lips part, but before he can speak, she adds, “Oh, and she’s on a hunger strike. I’m told it’s just a phase, but hey, if you can get her to eat, more power to you.” 

Steve stands there, blinking once and then twice. “Okay...” he says, turning to Isabel. “Well, don’t you sound delightful.”

“No,” Isabel says with a shake of her head. 

“You sure you don’t want to take the stroller?” she asks when Steve’s face falls at their daughter’s swift reply, and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“Nah, I think we’ll be fine,” he says. “I’ll have her back in a few hours.”

“Sounds good,” she says before waving at Isabel. “Bye, Iz! Have fun.”

“Bye!” Isabel says, waving back.

She waits for Steve and Isabel to walk down the block, and once they disappear from her vantage point, she returns inside, letting out a breath and feeling a lot more at ease than she did when she had woken up this morning. With any luck, maybe this didn’t have to be the debacle she thought it might be.

* * *

He should have taken the stroller.

The thought loops continuously in Steve’s mind as he lengthens his strides along the cobblestone paths of Kensington Gardens in an attempt to keep up with his daughter. “Izzie, slow down, babe!” he calls out, half in astonishment at seeing Isabel zoom past him with ease and half in anxiousness over the uneven grounds beneath their feet. The plea only spurns her on though, and he finds himself chuckling under his breath when she attempts to run. “Come here, you little daredevil!” 

Isabel dissolves into a fit of giggles as he collects her in his arms, lifting her to him to pepper her face with kisses. “Dada, no!”

“You keep this up, you’re gonna scrape your knees,” he tries to explain though he knows it’s an exercise in futility. If there’s anything he’s learned in the last couple of hours since they left Natasha’s flat, it’s that trying to reason with his eighteen-month-old is practically like talking to a wall.

“Walk,” Isabel insists, blinking up at him as if he hadn’t said a word. But then she smiles, the type that spans so wide it reaches her eyes and bares all her milky white teeth that his heart is helpless to do anything but melt in his chest.

“Fine,” he says with a sigh, ignoring the teasing he can hear in his head from everyone in his life about how easily he’s charmed. “But you have to hold Daddy’s hand, okay?”

“‘kay,” Isabel says as he puts her back down on her feet, and he can’t help but grin when she offers up her hand for him to take. 

By the time they make it to the Italian Gardens, Isabel tires enough that she does not protest when he picks her up to get a better view of the fountains, and as she points to every little thing that catches her attention and narrates her thoughts to him, he’s relieved by how quickly she’s readjusted to his presence. There was a part of him that had anticipated her skepticism of him this morning – for as much as they FaceTimed three times a week, he knows that it’s still not a substitute for her seeing him every day – though he has to admit that the way she had run to Natasha as if he were some stranger still stinged. Heartbreak is something he knows a little too well, but being rejected by his own daughter is one type he hopes he’ll never have to experience ever again.

Luckily for him, that doesn’t seem to be in the cards any longer. Isabel’s been nothing but receptive to him since they left, and for his part, he’s been all but entranced by every new facet of her personality that he’s discovered. She’s still the same precocious and affectionate little girl he remembers from six months ago, only now she’s more gregarious, and he can’t recall having laughed as much as he has since they’ve set out together this morning. 

“Look!” Isabel says, and as he turns his gaze towards the direction her finger is pointed in, he makes out one of the urns of the Tazza fountain. 

“Do you know what that is?” he asks, observing Isabel’s reaction. Though it’s been a while since he’s been able to spend this much time with her, he realizes that despite her evolving personality, there’s a familiarity to her mannerisms and proclivities, and that’s because it’s so inherently Natasha – much like the way her nose is scrunched up now as she tries to answer his question. But there are also parts of himself that he’s found in her in the last couple of hours, such as the way her shoulders sag in defeat when she’s being reprimanded, and he finds some comfort in the reminder that regardless of the time they spend apart, they’ll always be intrinsically connected.

Isabel turns back to him, her eyes growing wide with excitement. “Do-phin?”

“Yes, baby girl!” he says, earning a squeal of delight from Isabel when he kisses her cheek. “You’re right, it’s a dolphin. Good job!” He turns away from the fountain, reaching behind him to fish his phone out of his pocket and opening it up to the camera. “Okay, now smile so we can send grandma a picture.”

“No!” Isabel says immediately, turning her face away. 

He puts his phone down, chuckling. “You win some, you lose some.”

The next day, he pretends not to notice Natasha’s I-Told-You-So expression when he asks for the stroller before he and Isabel set out on another day of sightseeing. Yesterday had been a real eye opener for him in terms of getting to know his daughter’s quirks, and as he pushes Isabel through St. James Park, he revels in having been better prepared this time around. While he hadn’t succeeded in getting pictures of her facing the camera on their previous outing, he’s certain and feeling a touch triumphant at having taken enough today to satisfy both his family and his friends in their respective group chats. The trick, he learned, lies in phrasing the idea of taking the picture to Isabel in a form of a question instead of a command. It seemed silly, but as he’s learning, such is toddler logic. Plus, in the end, the elaborate charade of it all is worth it if it meant sticking it to Bucky for harping on his photography skills. 

It’s when he and Isabel are walking out of a restaurant two days later that he hears his phone ring, and as he looks at the name flashing on the screen, he pushes the stroller to the side, turning it until Isabel is facing him. “It’s momma,” he mouths to Isabel, who looks up at him, before bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey, we’re on our way back.”

“Hey,” Natasha says, and his eyebrows immediately furrow at the exasperated sigh that accompanies her greeting. “That’s actually why I’m calling. I ran into a problem at work and won’t be home for another hour or two and I know it’s almost her bedtime. Do you mind staying with her until I get back?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, just need to sort something out here sooner rather than later,” she says. “But are you sure you don’t mind? Because I can get-”

“Natasha,” he interrupts. “I’ve got her. Do what you have to do.”

“Thank you,” Natasha says, gratitude thick in her voice. “I’ll be home as soon as I can, but make yourself comfortable and help yourself to whatever’s in my kitchen if you want. But also maybe try not to judge what’s in it, yeah?”

“Duly noted,” he says with a chuckle, thankful that such is the rapport they’ve built since he arrived that she’s comfortable enough to joke around with him. “Oh, but before you go.” His eyes fall to Isabel, who’s busying herself with her new Beefeater doll, before he shakes his head. “Do you have a hair dryer I can borrow?” 

* * *

A sigh slips from Natasha’s lips when she walks into her flat and haphazardly rids herself of her heels, shoving the pair off to the side as she makes her way down the foyer. The living room is empty when she enters, and the first thing she notices is how much neater the space looks – gone are the toys Isabel had scattered around, and for once, the throw pillows on her couch actually align properly. But when her gaze falls to the recliner on the left and then to the black coat draped over the back, all her questions are immediately answered. 

“Steve?” she calls out. “You in here?” When she does not get a reply, she steps further into the room, suddenly becoming aware of the whirring sound coming from down the hall. She decides to follow it, and when it leads her to the open doorway of the bathroom, she can only chuckle as she peers inside. “So that’s what you needed the hair dryer for.”

Steve whips around at the sound of her voice, a startled expression on his face as he holds the dryer in one hand and his shirt in the other. “Oh hey,” he says, thumbing the dryer off. “Uh… sorry, I didn’t hear you come in over the noise.”

“Well, if I’m being honest, I’m a little disappointed,” she admits, smirking when his face twists in confusion. “When you asked to borrow my dryer, I was hoping it was because you gave Izzie a bath and decided to give her a fabulous blowout.”

“I did give her a bath,” he says, a tinge of indignance in his voice as he points to the tub. “But I also had to give my shirt a bath on the account of the little rascal throwing her spaghetti at me.” He shoots her a withering look when she throws her head back, cackling. “Ha ha, very funny.”

“Yeah, probably should have warned you about that,” she says, rolling her lips in an attempt to taper her laughter. “She asleep already?”

“Got her down about a half hour ago,” he says. 

Though she already knew the answer, his confirmation still evokes disappointment in her. “I’m gonna go kiss her goodnight,” she tells him, turning and making her way towards the end of the hall. Isabel’s room is dimly lit by her night light, and carefully, she tiptoes towards the crib, bending down to press a kiss to her forehead. For a moment, she allows herself to just watch the rise and fall of her daughter’s chest, letting the peaceful image wash away the fatigue from her day. Then with sigh and a final glance at her, she exits the room in search of a much needed nightcap.

The kitchen tiles are cold under her feet as she makes a beeline for the fridge, and as she pulls the door open to inspect its contents, she hears her name being called out. “Kitchen!” she yells back. The sound of footsteps coming her way is the only response, and she looks over her shoulder in time to see Steve appear by the frame, his shirt back on and its sleeves rolled past his elbows. “Want a beer?” she asks, only to silently admonish herself when she sees the way Steve’s brows shoot up in surprise. “I’m sorry, I’ve kept you long enough, haven’t I? You probably have things to do-”

“No,” he interrupts, clearing his throat as he straightens his stance. “A beer would be nice, actually.”

She smiles. “Stella still good with you?” When he nods, she turns back to the fridge, grabbing two bottles before using her foot to shut the door. She twists off the caps before handing the other bottle to him, and when he mutters a thank you, she nods towards her living room.

“So let me get this straight…” she hears him say as she plops down on the couch and he takes a seat on the recliner. “You’re still a coffee addict but no longer a vodka fiend?” He clicks his tongue. “Gotta be honest, I always thought that if one had to go, it would be the coffee.”

“First of all,” she says, propping her feet up on the coffee table. “I would never give up either. But gun to my head, it would be coffee, yes.” She lifts her bottle up as if to inspect it. “Vodka is still my poison of choice. I just haven’t had the time to replenish.”

“Bad day?” he asks as she takes a long swig from her bottle.

“You don’t know the half of it,” she groans, placing her bottle down to dig the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

A beat passes before she hears him ask, “Wanna talk about it?”

Her eyes blink open in surprise, and she turns to look at him. “You really want to hear about work stuff?”

“Only if you want to talk about it,” he says with a shrug.

For a second, she can only sit there, blinking as she contemplates his offer. In the last few days since he arrived, they’ve been cordial enough with one another that asking him to stay with Isabel as she sorted out some pressing issues at work tonight didn’t feel like that big of an imposition. Now here she is, commandeering more of his time by inviting him to have a beer with her that, surely, it would be rude of her to unload on him about her harrowing workday, too. But as she turns back to him, the earnestness of his expression convinces her to throw caution to the wind. She sighs, sinking further into her seat. “It’s just a lot of… bullshit,” she says, leaning her elbow on the arm rest as they both laugh at her word choice. “The member of Parliament I was talking about a few days ago? This morning he threatened to sue us for defamation.” Concern paints his features at her words, but she’s quick to wave it off. “We already talked to legal about it. It’s all a power play. With the amount of evidence we have to back up our claims, he does not have a case.”

“Then what’s the problem?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” she says, looking up at the ceiling. “Once upon a time, I would have found intimidation tactics like this a fun challenge... In fact, I lived for these hurdles. I liked knowing my work was keeping people like him up at night, because it meant I was hitting at the truth. But nowadays?” She shrugs, looking back at him. “I guess the exhaustion just sinks down to the bone a little more… and it’s not that I don’t love my job, I do. Becoming editor-in-chief has always been on my career bucket list and I know I’m very fortunate to be where I am today. It’s just that checking every little thing off of that list isn’t everything to me anymore.” She nods towards the hallway. “She is.”

“No, I totally get it,” he says, and for the first time in a while, she feels relief wash over her at the certainty that fills his eyes. “I didn’t know that being a curator was something I wanted to do until Tony and Pepper approached me about it. Discovering all these new artists has been great-”

“And the gift baskets too, I’m sure,” she adds, smirking at the questioning look that crosses his face. “Darcy catches me up on the office gossip. She said you get a lot of loot from people vying to interview you.”

“I leave whatever I get in the breakroom and let them fight over it,” he explains, smiling as she chuckles. “But yeah, the feeling of professional accomplishment I’ve had these last couple of years? Doesn’t even come close to how it felt when Izzie looked up at me tonight as I was putting her to bed and told me, unprompted, that she loved me.” 

“I lah you,” she says, making them both chuckle as she mimics Isabel’s voice. “Kinda knocks you off your feet a little, huh?” He nods, to which she smiles. “Anyway, enough talking about work and our lives’ purpose for one night. What did you two get into today?”

“See for yourself,” he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to her. “I thought she might like to see horse drawn carriages like in her bedtime stories, so we went to the Royal Mews. I think she really enjoyed it. Well, save for the little meltdown she had when I wouldn’t let her pet the” – he puts out his free hand, making air quotations with his index and middle fingers – “ponies.” 

She scoffs, handing him back his phone. “If it was just a little meltdown, consider yourself lucky. She once face-planted on the floor of a Tesco because I wouldn’t let her carry the carton of eggs while we shopped.”

“Toddlers, huh?” he says with a shake of his head.

“They’re cute for a reason,” she concurs. “What about tomorrow?”

“We were going to see Big Ben, but then I learned that it’s boarded up,” he says, his gaze falling to the watch on his wrist. “Oh, wow. Speaking of tomorrow, though, I have to work a little in the morning before I come get her, so I should probably get going.” When she nods in acknowledgement, he stands, reaching for his coat. “But anyway, we might just do the aquarium instead. That place any good?”

She shrugs. “Wouldn’t know. Never been.”

“You’ve never been to the aquarium?” he asks incredulously, his eyes widening when she shakes her head no. “Have you at least gone to other sites? Like the Tower?”

“I’ve seen it. It’s on my bus route to work.”

“Natasha,” he says in equal parts amusement and admonishment.

“I’ve been busy,” she argues. “And taking a not even two-year-old to the Tower of London where they keep all the shiny Crown Jewels that she’s not allowed to touch?” She scoffs. “I’m not a glutton for punishment, Steve.”

“They’re encased in glass boxes,” he reasons, to which she rolls her eyes before turning to straighten the throw pillows on the couch. There’s a pause, and just when she assumes that he’s chosen to let the argument go, he sighs. “You should come with us.”

“What?” she asks, turning to him, pillow still in hand. “Steve, I can’t-”

“You got plans?” he challenges.

“Not for a few days, no, but I do have mounds of laundry to do,” she says, scoffing when he crosses his arms over his chest. “Hey, she might be small, but she goes through a lot of clothes and they’re a pain to fold.”

“You can do laundry when you get back,” he dismisses. “Come on, Nat. You’re the one that made fun of me for not having been to The Met before.”

“That’s not the same. You had been living in Manhattan for years at that point,” she says before gesturing around her flat. “Look, I know you couldn’t help yourself and tidied up this living room, you weirdo. But trust me when I say there’s more to clean!” When his knowing gaze does not let up, she scoffs. And maybe it’s the catharsis from having shared her qualms about work with the only person who truly understands her predicament, or the way they’d seamlessly fallen into conversation as if it hadn’t been ages since they last sat back and had a beer together, but either way, she finds her determination wavering. With a sigh, she puts the pillow back down on the couch. “Fine, okay. Okay. I’ll go.”

“Okay,” he says, suddenly looking triumphant. As he begins to make his way towards the door, she follows him, raising a brow in question when he puts a hand on the knob only to turn back to her. He shrugs. “I know the consequences of your work are exhausting, but for what it’s worth… I think we’re all pretty lucky to have you fighting to get the truth out there.” 

Despite how tired she feels, her lips turn up in a smile. “Thank you,” she says with a nod of her head. “Goodnight, Steve.” 

“Goodnight, Nat.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested, you can read A Little Favor, the original story, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/34574921).
> 
> For previews and update announcements on this fic (or if you just want to say hi!), follow me on Tumblr: [natrogersfics](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/)


	3. Every Step I Take Retreats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Many thanks and awesome stuff about [Samtuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samtuma) and [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/pseuds/Faith2nyc) go here) You guys know how much I love these two! :-) 
> 
> See more of [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/pseuds/Faith2nyc)'s artwork on [Tumblr](https://faith2nyc.tumblr.com/), [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/faith2nyc_romanogers/), and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Faith2nyc_IG)! 
> 
> Happy reading!

The hustle and bustle of the aquarium is magnified in the underwater tunnel as locals and tourists alike take in the scenery. But as Steve watches Isabel stare at the glass panels above them with fascination thick on her face and an exclamation of _wow_! slipping from her lips every now and then, he notes that the ruckus is not nearly enough to drown out his daughter’s infectious excitement. She’d been intrigued the second they walked into the first exhibit and saw a school of colorful fish swim by, all but demanding to be let out of her stroller, and ever since, getting her to walk in stride with him and Natasha instead of an entire full step ahead has been a lost cause. 

As Isabel stops by one of the windows to admire an idling turtle, he steals a glance at Natasha to see a smile on her face as she watches Isabel wave at her newfound friend. To say that he was surprised when she offered him a beer last night would be an understatement. While they’ve certainly warmed up to each other in the last few days, Isabel's always been there to serve as a buffer between them, making sure that their conversations never progress longer than the time it takes for her to knock something over or cry for attention. Which is why, when Natasha had been so candid and open about her recent struggles at work with him last night, he was downright stunned. Still, the way they had smoothly transitioned into talking about life and their newfound perspective on it was reminiscent of the times they’d meet up after work to shoot the breeze at Dalton’s. Regardless of what he was going through then, he always left their self-designated booth those nights feeling better, and last night was no different. It’s something he has dearly missed.

It was that camaraderie that made him act on the impulse of asking her to tag along today. And though he’d all but goaded her into saying yes, he was still a bit nervous on his way to her flat this morning. It had been ages since the three of them had gone out together, and most of those instances had been to Christine’s office for Isabel’s checkups. But thus far, he’s glad that their rapport picked up right where it left last night, slipping effortlessly into conversation, catching each other up on mundane things like what their friends back at The Daily are up to and how Natasha’s yet to find a Thai restaurant that compares to their favorite one in the East Village. Further, while he’s certainly had fun discovering new aspects of Isabel’s personality these last few days, he has to admit that it’s nice having someone who shares his amusement to her reactions. 

“Did you know that she loved fish this much?” he asks, keeping his eyes on Isabel as she begins to move once again.

“I had an inkling,” Natasha says, pushing the empty stroller. “You know those illustrations of sea creatures you made for her? I had them bound into a book before we moved so they wouldn’t get destroyed, and added it to the rotation when she started showing interest in picture books.” She nods towards Isabel, whose head keeps moving from side to side as she decides which exhibit to focus on next. She chuckles. “But I didn’t think she’d be beside herself like this.” 

The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. “She likes those?”

“They’re her favorite,” Natasha says, nodding in confirmation when he turns to look at her, surprised. “Of course, I try to mix it up every now and then, so her knowledge isn’t just limited to sea animals” – she pauses as they both laugh – “but given a choice? She’d pick that book in a heartbeat, every single time.”

“When we were at the Gardens the other day, the first urn she picked out on the fountain was the dolphin,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets and no longer trying to contain his smile.

“Well, I did have the dolphin placed on the cover,” she says.

He looks at her, raising an eyebrow at the smile she seems to be biting back. “Because… dolphins are your favorite?”

“Not particularly,” she says. “But I do distinctly remember catching you doodling it during a section meeting.” She smirks at the sheepish expression that makes it onto his face. “Consider it a pre-emptive strike for when there’s a question about who she got her short attention span from.”

“She’s barely two,” he says emphatically, “of course her attention span is short!” When Natasha only shrugs, he scoffs in disbelief. “And excuse me, you’re the one who pretends to take notes on your iPad when really you’re playing Scrabble with Darcy.”

She gasps at his retort, but it’s quickly replaced by a chuckle. “Only when Sitwell’s talking!” 

“That’s still an indictment of your attention span,” he counters, causing her to raise an eyebrow in challenge. “I’m just saying-”

“Dada!”

Isabel’s distressed voice interrupts him, but before he and Natasha can search for her, Isabel already has her arms around his leg and her face in the material of his jeans. “Izzie?” he says, scooping her into his arms just as Natasha comes around to them. “What’s wrong?” 

“Are you hurt?” Natasha asks, checking Isabel’s arms and legs.

Isabel shakes her head, pointing towards the window to the right. “Shark!”

He and Natasha look over, and sure enough, a large tiger shark looms by the panel, its teeth bared. “Oh, fig,” he says, making sure to keep his amusement out of his tone even as he and Natasha trade yet another fascinated look. “You don’t have to be afraid. We’re inside, it can’t get to you.” 

“No,” Isabel says, “home!”

The way Isabel’s arms tighten around his neck causes him to freeze, and he tries to rack his brain for a solution to calm her down. But then Natasha reaches over, patting Isabel’s hair gently. “But fig,” she chimes in, “we haven’t seen the penguins like in Happy Feet, yet.”

Isabel lifts her head from his shoulder, looking to him and then to Natasha. “Pen-gins?”

“Yeah!” Natasha says with a level of excitement he’s only ever heard her use when speaking to their daughter. “How ‘bout it, huh? Can you let Daddy put you down so we can go visit the penguins?”

Isabel smiles, nodding her head. “Okay.”

“Nice save,” he tells Natasha as he takes the stroller from her and she takes Isabel’s hand, leading them towards the hall labeled Polar Adventure.

“You pick up a thing or two after a while,” Natasha says, winking. “You’ll see.”

While he’s gone to see the penguins at Central Park before, he has to admit that the Penguin Point experience really is something special. From the simulated North Pole ambiance, complete with manufactured ice shelves and snowflakes, to the plexiglass bubble that allows visitors to come practically nose-to-beak with the Gentoos, it’s no wonder that Isabel’s been propelled over the moon. Her freight over the shark long forgotten as she and Natasha sit on the ledge of the enclosure to see the penguins wobble by. To the side, their guide dutifully informs them about the speed at which these flightless birds can swim, though he can’t say he’s paying much attention. Ever since he had seen the way Natasha had expertly diverted Isabel’s worries, he can’t seem to peel his eyes away from them, observing their interactions carefully and smiling at the unquestionable love and affection between them.

There’s never been a doubt in his mind about what a great mother Natasha is. He’s seen it firsthand, witnessed how easily she had tackled motherhood from the moment Isabel was born like it was something she was always meant to do. In many ways, he knows that she’s attuned to their daughter in a manner only she can be, instead it’s not something he feels a shred of envy over. He couldn’t be happier or more thankful that she happens to be the mother of his child, and from where he stands, that sentiment is only fortified when he sees Natasha point at the penguins jumping into the water, and Isabel, who’s sitting in her lap, claps her hands in elation.

The sight brings a warmth to his chest, and as he begins to make his way over to them, Natasha looks up, grinning softly, and he smiles back without so much as a second thought as she alerts Isabel of his presence. Isabel turns towards him, her eyes alight. “Having fun?” he asks, bending down. 

“Pen-gins, Dada!” Isabel all but shrieks, pointing to the enclosure behind them.

“I’ve never seen her this excited,” Natasha whispers over Isabel’s head as she continues to babble on. “I think she might actually pass out.”

“Good thing I thought to bring the stroller,” he deadpans, chuckling at the way her eyes narrow at him. “Izzie, can we take a picture for grandma?”

Isabel nods, and as he reaches for his phone, Natasha begins to move. “Mama, no!” Isabel says, latching onto Natasha’s arm before she can stand.

“Daddy’s going to take your picture, babe,” Natasha explains.

“You don’t have to move,” he says. “Let’s get a couple shots of the both of you.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, her tone skeptical as she tilts her head to the side. “It’s for your mom...”

“I’m sure she won’t mind,” he says, taking a step back to widen the angle when Natasha goes to sit back with Isabel, pulling her into her lap once more. “Okay, in three, two, one… say cheese!”

“Cheese!” Natasha and Isabel say in unison, the both of them beaming from ear to ear, and he mirrors their expressions as he snaps a few shots of them.

“Why don’t I take some of you two?” Natasha suggests, and with a nod, he switches places with her, handing her his phone as he goes. “Look at momma, Iz! Good girl, now smile!” She moves to the left to shift the angle, and he and Isabel pivot accordingly to get the penguins behind them into the frame. “Okay, now funny face! Perfect!” She giggles from behind the screen. “Sarah’s going to love these.” 

He chuckles, accepting his phone back from her to see a picture of Isabel with her tongue out and him cross-eyed. “They’ll be on her fridge in no time.”

“Excuse me?” They look up at the question to see their guide standing before them, a genial smile on his face. “Would you like me to take a photo of the three of you?”

His head whips from their guide to Natasha. “If that’s okay with you?” 

“That would be great, actually,” Natasha says, stealing a glance at the nametag on the left side of the man’s vest. “Thank you, Heimdall.” She turns back to him and Isabel, smiling as he moves to make space for her on the ledge. “Let’s make sure she’s looking at the camera. I don’t want to hear it from Nick and Melinda.” 

“Nor do I want to hear it from my ma,” he volleys back as she sits down, laughing as she shakes her head. 

“Okay,” Heimdall says, holding up the camera before gesturing to them with his free hand. “Move a little closer, yeah?” He and Natasha do as they’re told, scooting closer to one another until their legs are touching, and he shifts Isabel to sit on both of them. “Brilliant! Now everybody lean in… and say penguin!”

“Penguin!” he and Natasha say at the same time Isabel yells cheese, sending them both into a fit of laughter. 

When Heimdall gives them a thumbs up, Natasha turns to Isabel, shaking her head fondly. “Such a little rebel.”

“And whom does she take after?” Heimdall asks, only to chuckle when he and Natasha point fingers at one another. “In any case, you lot make a beautiful family.”

He smiles politely as Heimdall passes his phone back. “Thank you.” 

“Think she has enough penguin things?” Natasha asks hours later as they sit at a café across the aquarium.

He chuckles over the lip of his coffee mug, setting it down on the table as he looks to the highchair where Isabel is working on her penguin activity book with a penguin scarf around her neck. “Oh, I don’t know,” he says, “maybe ask me again later when she puts on her penguin pajamas.”

“Hey, consider yourself lucky that I was able to negotiate the pajamas in exchange for the stuffed, jumbo penguin,” she says. “We’d probably have to get it its own Oyster card just to get it home.” 

“Gift shops or death traps for the wallets of desperate parents?” he muses. “You decide.”

She smirks in agreement. “So…” she trails, propping an elbow on the table to rest her chin on a closed fist. “Christmas Eve. What’re you up to?” 

“Not much, really,” he admits. “The hotel I’m staying at said they have something going on in the lounge for a bit, but I’m probably just going to turn in since I promised everyone that I’d wrap their gifts for” – he nods silently towards Isabel – “you know who in time for Christmas morning at yours.”

“They do know she’s coming home with you, right?” she asks. “They could’ve just given it to her there.”

“Believe me, if they listened to me at all, I wouldn’t be so worried about getting sauce on one of the few shirts I have for this trip,” he says, eliciting a laugh from her.

“Point taken,” she says. “But I ask because when I realized Izzie and I weren’t going to make it back for Christmas, I decided to invite some people over to my place for Christmas Eve.” She shrugs. “If you don’t have anything set in stone, you’re welcome to join us.”

“Natasha,” he says, averting his gaze to his hands. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to intrude on you and your friends.”

“Hard to be an intruder when you’re being invited,” she counters, sighing when he remains silent. “Steve.” He looks up at her at that, catching her disarming smile. “Look, I know in the past we’ve made a mess of things-”

“Natasha,” he repeats, shaking his head. “Consider that water over the dam.”

“Okay, yeah,” she says. “But now that we’ve put that out there, maybe we can look forward? I mean, I wish I could say that this is the only time a monkey wrench is going to get thrown into our perfectly planned schedules, but I sincerely doubt it. We’re going to be in each other’s lives, Steve. Might as well get used to it.” She eyes Isabel before looking back at him. “Besides, I think she’d really like having her Dad there.”

He scoffs. “When nine out of ten times her answer is no, I’d say the odds aren’t great.” 

“Only one way to find out,” she says, tapping Isabel’s arm. “Izzie, you want Daddy to come to Christmas Eve, right?”

Isabel moves her arm out of Natasha’s reach as she continues to color over a penguin with a purple crayon. “M’busy!”

He and Natasha scoff, and she turns to him with a sheepish expression. “Technically that isn’t a no.” 

He rolls his eyes at that before letting out a sigh when Natasha raises a brow in challenge. Immediately, his mind conjures a million different reasons to refuse. Spending a day together is one thing, and while he had been the first one to color outside the lines of their custody agreement by asking to spend Christmas with them in the first place, something about this invitation feels different. Meeting the new people in Natasha’s life, when these relationships have no bearing on how well the two of them function as co-parents, seems like a weightier, riskier choice. But then his mother’s words come to mind: _like it or not, you and Natasha are forever bonded by the beautiful baby girl you two brought into this world. That makes you family, and families spend Christmas together._

When it comes down to it, with their family being as unorthodox as it is, it was always going to be more complicated to navigate than the average unit. But if Natasha, one of the most pragmatic people he knows and who he trusts to make difficult decisions, is willing to extend an olive branch, who is he to turn it down.

“Okay,” he says, smiling at the way Natasha’s eyes light up when she gets her way. “But then you’re coming cookie decorating with us in Soho tomorrow.”

“Do we get to take the cookies home?” she asks, to which he nods. “Fine, but since you’re keeping me from laundry, we’re dropping by Selfridges after this.”

He smirks. “Deal.” 

* * *

Christmas carols play softly in the background in Hela’s Cookie Boutique, but Natasha’s only half listening, too distracted by watching Steve and Isabel decorate sugar cookies with the exact same focused expression on their faces. Isabel turns to Steve, bringing a finger up to his face and giggling when he licks the red icing off, and as she catches the exchange, she smiles. Seeing Steve and Isabel interact up close now that their daughter is more engaging has been an experience she didn’t think she’d find so endearing. Of course, she knew Isabel adored him and that the feeling was absolutely and unabashedly mutual, but to see that affection unfold before her very eyes has made her heart unexpectedly expand in her chest.

Perhaps adding to her giddiness is the fact that this sight is also quite comical. With the class geared toward families, miniature workstations had been set up for the children, and as soon as Isabel had seen them, talking her into sitting elsewhere became downright impossible. Despite the smaller than usual seats, though, she notes that she fits just fine. The same could not be said, however, for Steve right next to her. She lets her gaze fall to him, taking her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from smiling. Hunched in his seat, Steve sticks out like a sore thumb, his broad frame looking even more immense as they’re surrounded by other children. Though she had offered to move stations, he’d refused – too willingly beholden to Isabel’s whims to care about his own comfort.

“I should be mad at you for unleashing our daughter in what is essentially a sugar factory,” she says, prompting Steve to turn to her as she snaps a picture of Isabel. “But I have to admit, she does look darn cute in a baker’s hat!”

He chuckles. “Doesn’t the little shoulder shimmy she does along to the music just kill you?”

“So much so I almost forget how hard it’s going to be to give her a bath later,” she says a little too sweetly, eyeing the sticky mess caked onto their daughter’s arms as Isabel puts more icing than her cookie could possibly hold and finding herself infinitely thankful for the aprons they were provided with.

“Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll give her a bath tonight if you promise that my mother will never see those pictures.”

“Not that I would ever let Sarah know that her son is a traitor who took her granddaughter to another bakery for cookie decorating,” she says, putting her phone away. “But since you offered, feel free to take over bath duty anytime you want.” 

He narrows his eyes at her, shaking his head when she does not even bother to hide her smile. “That’s fine,” he says, nodding towards the cookie she’s working on. “When she starts to yell at me, I’ll just show her a picture of your lumpy cookie to distract her.”

“We’re not all aiming to make art out of cookies, Michelangelo,” she teases, making him roll his eyes when she points to his immaculately decorated Santa cookie. “Plus, it’s a lot harder to smooth out this icing than it looks!” 

“That’s why you never go for the snowflake. There’s not enough surface area,” he says, reaching over for a fresh cookie, this time shaped like a stocking, before scooping out some blue icing with his spatula. “Here, look. All you have to do is lay the icing down and glide the spatula back and forth like so. It’s all in the wrist.”

“Like this?” she asks, trying to mimic his actions, only to glare at him when he fails miserably at holding back his chuckle when the icing still does not lay smoothly on her cookie. “Excuse me for not being raised in a bakery like some people, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he says through a wide smile. “Grab a new cookie and some icing and I’ll show you.” She does as instructed, barely hiding her surprise when he crouches down behind her seat, his arms all but wrapping around her as he puts a hand over the one she has clutching the spatula. “Just lay the icing” – he begins to guide her hand, first adding some pressure to flatten the blob of icing before gently moving their hands down the cookie – “and glide.” By the time the spatula reaches the edge of the Christmas tree, there’s not a single peak on the icing, and he turns to her, smirking. “Now was that so hard?”

“Guess not,” she says, craning her neck to look at him. “Thanks.” 

He grins. “No problem.” 

With their proximity, she feels his words just as much as she hears them, but the thought is fleeting, fading as quickly as it had come when she finds herself caught in his smile and the way his eyes look impossibly brighter in this moment. How long they stay staring at each other, she does not know – seconds, maybe a minute. It’s when they hear a squeal from across the table that he looks away, and when she follows his line of sight, her eyes widen when she sees that Isabel’s gotten hold of a piping bag.

“Izzie, no!” Steve says as they both rush out of their seats. 

In spite of Steve’s warning, Isabel squeezes down, and she watches in horror as icing bursts out of the bag and onto Isabel’s face. She cringes as Isabel turns to look at her, icing flowing from her chin and down to her neck. “Uh oh.” 

With a shake of her head, she laughs. “Uh oh is right, Little Miss.” She steps forward to reach for the baby bag, sighing in relief when she sees it already in Steve’s grip as he hands her a bunch of wet wipes. “Thank you,” she says, before looking at Isabel. “Say, thank you, Daddy.”

“Thank you, Dada?” Isabel says, smiling through the mess on her face as they all burst into laughter. 

“Okay, new plan,” Steve says after they work in tandem to get as much icing off Isabel as they can without soap and water. He points to the tray of bare cookies before turning to her. “You lay down the base icing, I will smooth it out, and Miss Sticky over there can be on sprinkles duty.”

She laughs. “You do know she’s just going to throw too many sprinkles on it, right?” 

“Ah, but that’s the beauty of giving her already iced cookies,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows. “There’s only so many sprinkles that can stick before the rest just falls off.” 

When his expression turns smug, she can only roll her eyes.

* * *

The sun’s only begun to sink low into the horizon, casting a halo of warm light across the city, when a chilly breeze blows by, prompting Steve to adjust his scarf to rest more snuggly around his neck. While stopping at a park seems like a ridiculous idea in late December, the decision was strategic. As the saying goes, hell hath no fury like a toddler hyped on sugar, and he and Natasha weren’t about to tempt fate by not providing Isabel with an opportunity to expend all the energy provided by an afternoon spent consuming ludicrous amounts of icing.  
  
While Isabel explores the surroundings on the patch of grass before them, he and Natasha sit on the nearby bench, a pile of rocks and weeds that their daughter has discovered and given to them for safe keeping only growing by the minute between them. He looks at Natasha, who’s busy admiring the scenery, to see the box of their leftover cookies resting on her lap, and instantly, the sight brings a smile to his face. Growing up in his mother’s bakery, the smell of butter and sugar in the air always had a way of evoking good feelings in him – a clear sign that wonderful things, usually in the form of a sweet treat, were to come. Today, though, as the three of them laughed and decorated cookies, he finds that those good feelings are akin to glee.   
  
The sound of Isabel’s laughter ringing melodiously in the air catches their attention, and when they turn, they can only chuckle when they see her begin to follow a hapless duck a few feet away. He shakes his head. “Why do I feel like we should be helping that duck?”  
  
“Because you know what your daughter is like when she’s only running on sugar and no afternoon nap,” Natasha says matter-of-factly, shooting him a knowing look. “Also, that duck’s never gonna see her again anyway. We, on the other hand, have to take her home and deal with the inevitable crash from her sugar high.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Believe me, the duck can take one for the team right now.”  
  
“She was a bit of a menace the other night when I let her have a cupcake after dinner,” he says, nodding in concession. “But, hell, if she isn’t so easy to love.”  
  
“Confusing, isn’t it?” she asks, to which he hums in agreement. “One minute, you want to pull your hair out because she’s acting like you’re torturing her when really you’re just trying to put her shoes on-”  
  
“But then the next she’s hugging you and telling you she loves you?” he finishes with a smirk.  
  
“Exactly!” she says, throwing her head back in laughter. “But like you said, she’s just the sweetest thing ever. Really intuitive, too. You’d think at her age, she wouldn’t understand when you’re having a bad day, but then just when you’re feeling really down, you get a random hug from her…” She sighs, looking off to where Isabel is. “And suddenly everything doesn’t seem so bad.”  
  
He follows Natasha’s line of sight, smiling when he sees that Isabel’s turned her attention to some flowers, before turning back to her. “We made a pretty good kid, didn’t we?”  
  
Her green eyes are brimming with pride as she looks at him. “Yeah,” she says, “we did.”  
  
He does not respond with words. Instead, he just holds her gaze as they share a smile, because truly, what else is there to say. If there’s anything these last few days have proven, it’s that when it comes down to it, Isabel is a reminder that despite everything that’s gone on between them in the last few years, all the hurt that they’ve unintentionally caused one another and the distance they’ve placed between them – physically or otherwise – they’ve always made a great team. And though the thought comes unbidden in his mind, he finds himself wondering how different things could have been if he had worked up the courage to tell her how he felt back then. But more importantly, for the first time in so long, he allows himself to question whether or not he was wrong to hold back.   
  
Before he can give the thought any more consideration, though, Isabel makes their way to them, climbing into Natasha’s lap. “Hey, you,” Natasha says, looking away from him to wrap her arms around Isabel and kiss the top of her head. “Tired?”  
  
Isabel shakes her head, resting her cheek against Natasha’s chest. “No.”  
  
“If you say so,” Natasha says, chuckling under her breath.  
  
“Do you want to grab dinner?” he asks. “I saw a Thai restaurant across the street. We could see if their Pad Thai compares to the one in the Village.”  
  
“I would love to, but despite what this one says, she’s probably going to pass out soon,” Natasha says, and as if to prove her point, Isabel’s eyelids begin to flutter. “But how about you just come over to mine?” she then adds, her smile almost shy. “I don’t have Pad Thai, but I can whip us up some pasta.”  
  
“You cook now?” he says, his brows all but shooting into his hairline.  
  
The glare she sends his way is sharp, but it lasts only a second as she begins to laugh. “I’m not sure I appreciate the disbelief on your face.”  
  
“No, I believe you…” he trails, grinning when she raises a brow at him. “I just remember having to put out a bacon-related fire in your apartment once upon a time.”  
  
“You accidentally leave the burner on while you go to answer the door one time and some people never let you forget it,” she says, rolling her eyes before she joins him in snickering. When their laughter tapers, she tilts her head to the side. “So, what do you say?”  
  
“I say to see is to believe,” he says, dissolving into laughter once more when she picks up one of the stones in the pile between them and chucks it at him. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding! I’d be honored to taste your cooking… and not have to put it out afterwards.”   
  
She scoffs, but he can only really beam at the expression of mock hurt she makes. “You know what, Rogers.”   
  
With Isabel slumbering peacefully in her car seat, their cab ride back to Natasha’s flat is steeped in comfortable silence. London after dark is breathtaking, but even as the stunning view passes him by, he finds that he can only focus on how felicitous this – the three of them coming back from a day well spent – all feels. He steals a glance at Natasha on the other side, her face lit only by the streetlights, but even so, the little smile on her lips as she looks out her window brings a smile to his own.   
  
As if sensing his stare, she turns, her smile only widening when she catches him looking, and he can’t help but wonder if today has felt as good for her as it has for him. His lips part to ask the question, but before he can, the cab rattles as the driver runs over a bump. Like a reflex, he reaches out to make sure Isabel stays in place, his hand colliding with Natasha’s as she, too, does the same. They both nod at the cabbie’s subsequent apology, and the rest of the way, he does not bother to utter a word about how their hands remain atop of one another’s, nor does he ask questions when their fingers somehow wind up intertwined – but, and perhaps more saliently, neither does she. 

When they arrive back at Natasha’s flat, he lifts Isabel to him, paying the driver as Natasha collects the car seat and Isabel’s bag and they walk up the stairs to her front door. It’s only when they’ve made their way inside her foyer and she’s taking her keys out of the lock that he realizes her lights were already on when they entered.  
  
“Were you expecting someone?” he asks, turning to her.  
  
“Not that I remember,” she says, mirroring his concerned expression as she takes in her already lit foyer. As if on cue, they hear the sound of her cupboard being pushed shut, and hurriedly, she begins to make her way towards the sound.  
  
“Natasha, wait!” he says, his voice thick with worry as he follows her with lengthened strides. “There might be a-”  
  
“What are you doing here?” he hears Natasha ask as she enters her kitchen. Confused, he follows her, stopping by the doorway when he sees her arms around a man, his hair dark as night and his frame towering over hers. “I haven’t seen you in days!”  
  
“Had to pull another double shift,” the man says, his voice smooth as silk. “Luckily, my colleague was nice enough to relieve me a couple hours early, so I stopped by the supermarket and did some food shopping.”  
  
“You’re a lifesaver,” Natasha says, and he catches himself looking towards her kitchen island where an array of fruits and vegetables are sitting along with a six-pack of Stella and a bottle of Beluga – her favorite vodka. “Oh, Loki, this is Steve.”  
  
At the sound of his name, he looks up just as Natasha and the man – Loki, he reminds himself – turns to him. Loki smiles, moving around the island to extend a hand to him. “Pleasure to meet you, Steve.”  
  
“Likewise,” he says, shifting Isabel to free his other hand before shaking Loki’s. “I’m sorry, I-” His words are cut off when Isabel stirs, letting out a little whine. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. We’re back home.” Isabel lifts her head off his shoulder, her forehead wrinkling as she grimaces, and quickly, he rubs her back soothingly. She turns in his arms, and when her eyes land on Loki, it’s almost on instinct that he holds her closer to him. “It’s okay, fig. It’s just momma’s-”  
  
“Yo-ki?” Isabel says, her eyes lighting up with recognition. Before he knows it, she’s squirming in his arms, signaling to be let down. He obliges, staring dumbfoundedly as Loki bends down and Isabel runs into his open arms. “Yo-ki!”  
  
“Hello, love,” Loki says, laughing and picking Isabel up as he stands. “I missed you! Did you have a marvelous time today?”  
  
“Indeed she did,” Natasha says, and his head whips towards her to see her walk towards Isabel and Loki to tap Isabel’s nose. “I was actually about to make some-”  
  
“Actually, Natasha,” he interrupts, his eyes going from Loki, to Isabel, and then to her. And though he does not remember reaching for it, he holds up his phone. “Something just came up with the gallery. I’m going to have to pass on dinner.”  
  
“Oh, okay…” she says, blinking in surprise. “Something major?”  
  
“No, um… just a misunderstanding,” he says before shaking his head. “You have that thing tomorrow at three, right? I’ll be back before then to pick up Izzie.”  
  
“Right, yeah…” she looks at Isabel, lifting her out of Loki’s arms to place her down. “Say bye to Daddy, Iz.”  
  
As Isabel walks towards him, he bends down to give her a hug. “Bye, fig. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”  
  
“Dada, no!” Isabel says, stepping away from him. “Stay.”   
  
“But it’s almost your bedtime, sweetheart,” he says, rubbing his hands up and down her arms consolingly. “Daddy will be back tomorrow, okay? I promise.”  
  
Isabel’s bottom lip begins to quiver, but before the waterworks can begin, Natasha bends down next to them. “Izzie, baby, why don’t you show Loki the cookies you decorated, huh?”   
  
“My goodness, you decorated some cookies?” he hears Loki say, and he’s relieved when Isabel turns towards Loki, a smile forming on her face as she nods.  
  
The second Isabel begins to walk towards Loki, he gets up, turning away from the kitchen and making his way towards the front door. It’s only when he has one hand already on the knob that he hears Natasha call out to him, and he turns back to see her standing a few feet away, her eyes wide as she stares at him.  
  
“Steve…” she says, her eyebrows furrowing. “Is everything okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” he says, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “You have nothing to worry about.” He nods curtly. “I’ll be back for Izzie tomorrow.” 

He does not wait for her reply as he twists the knob and walks out, shutting the door behind him before all but running down the stairs. His footfalls are heavy on the concrete, but he does not dare look back as he makes his way down the block, ferociously trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut and the ache slowly but surely burning through his chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested, you can read A Little Favor, the original story, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/34574921).
> 
> For previews and update announcements on this fic (or if you just want to say hi!), follow me on Tumblr: [natrogersfics](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/)


	4. Every Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by: [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/pseuds/Faith2nyc)
> 
> Check out more of her edits on [Tumblr](https://faith2nyc.tumblr.com/), [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/faith2nyc_romanogers/), and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Faith2nyc_IG). 
> 
> Happy reading!

The clock on her nightstand is a minute short from ringing, but Natasha is already leaning over to kill the alarm. With a sigh, she rolls onto her back. The first vestiges of morning light stream through the liminal space between the curtains, filling the room, but unlike most days, the brightness does not bother her – she’d woken up long before these signs of the new day. It’s the height of irony that on one of the few occasions where Isabel had slept through the night, she’s the one who had restlessly stared into the dark. But as she’s reminded of the thoughts that kept her up all night, she’s not sure if sleeping was ever really in the cards.

Back when she was pregnant with Isabel and things between her and Steve seemed like it was heading in the right direction, she had let herself envision what their days as a family might be like. They’d do the most mundane of things, but they’d end up becoming extraordinary memories anyway because they’d laugh and have a wonderful time doing them. Yesterday had felt exactly like that. From decorating Christmas cookies to watching Isabel giggle and run around the park, it’s as if the day had been pulled directly from her dreams, and it was one she never wanted to wake up from. For there, in the tiny seat in front of the workstation in Hela’s Cookie Boutique, with Steve next to her and their daughter on cloud nine as she dipped their cookies in sprinkles of every color imaginable, she’d never felt so whole.

But it’s not the perfection of yesterday or even the fact that it hadn’t lasted that kept her up all night. It’s that at some point, she thought that perhaps she wasn’t the only one wishing that it wouldn’t end. She can’t pinpoint the exact moment she began to think it, it might have been as she and Steve worked to rid Isabel’s face of all the icing without having to say a word, or maybe as they realized on that park bench that they were both head over heels for the wonderful human being they had brought to life together. It might have even been on the cab ride back home to her flat where their hands had met and neither of them had bothered to let go, their fingers intertwining like two pieces built for the other. Either way, as the three of them walked up the steps to her front door, there was a part of her that was starting to believe that maybe she had read everything that had happened between her and Steve in the last couple of years all wrong.

Of course, the possibility that she was the only one caught up in yesterday’s glimpse of what could be is completely plausible – it certainly wouldn’t be the first time. But if she’s certain of one thing, it’s that something definitely changed. Sometime after their cab ride, the smile on Steve’s face had fallen, and it’s as if the progress they’d made since he arrived had all been erased as he reneged on her dinner invitation. What had catalyzed it, she couldn’t tell, and it’s that question that had prevented her from falling asleep. He had mentioned something about ironing out an issue with the gallery, but for the life of her, there wasn’t a fiber in her being that bought it. And though she knew she could have easily gotten confirmation with a single text to Pepper, she just couldn’t bring herself to pick up her phone. 

Before she can begin to ponder the reason, though, the real signal to the start of her day comes through the baby monitor as she hears Isabel whimper, and with a sigh, she throws the comforter off of her as she rises to her feet.

By the time she’s had coffee and she and Isabel are seated on the living room floor putting the finishing touches on some stockings, she makes a resolution not to jump to any conclusions. When Steve had texted her weeks ago asking if they could talk, she had panicked, and it turned out to be for nothing. Maybe this time, she’d ought not to fret before there’s a reason to. If Steve said that he had a work problem, then perhaps that’s really all there is to it.

“Izzie,” she says, reaching for a blank stocking and the bag filled with felt letters just as Isabel turns to her. “Come help me decorate this one.”

The doorbell rings later that afternoon just as she fastens the brooch on her hair, and with a final glance at the mirror, she makes her way towards the front door. She pulls it open, finding Steve standing on the other side, his eyes on the phone in his hand. “Hey.”

Steve looks up at her greeting, his brow ticking up when he sees her. “Hey,” he echoes back, putting his phone away. “You, um… you look nice.”

“Oh,” she says, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear as she gives the creme colored cocktail dress she had selected for the day a once-over. “Thanks.” She opens the door wider to let him in, calling out to Isabel over her shoulder before turning back to him. “Everything sorted out with the gallery?” 

“Yes,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets as he makes it a few steps into her foyer.

“Good, that’s good,” she says a beat later when he does not elaborate further, letting her lips quirk as she adds, “they’re lucky you used to be a tactician, huh?”

He only shrugs at her quip, and she tries not to grimace as she watches him look everywhere but at her, the feeling of unease that had fallen over them last night returning. But before she can say anything more, they hear the pitter pattering of feet against the hardwood, and she catches the way Steve’s entire demeanor shifts as he bends down, his face breaking out into a smile.

“Dada!” Isabel squeals.

Steve feigns a groan as Isabel all but launches herself into his arms, giggling as he lifts her up. “Hi fig,” he says, kissing Isabel’s cheek and eyeing the item between her hands. “What do we have here?”

Isabel pushes the stocking towards him. “Yours!”

From where she stands leaning against the doorknob, she watches as Steve takes the stocking with his free hand, his eyes scanning over the letters spelling out his name that she had stitched onto the front. She grins. “We thought since you’re spending Christmas here, you should have a stocking on the mantel, too.”

“Look, Dada!” Isabel says, pointing to the bright yellow sequins that she had insisted on adding. “Spaw-kles!”

“Obviously, the sparkles were her idea,” she explains, catching the way Steve’s lips pull up in a smile.

“I love it,” he tells Isabel, who proceeds to wrap her arms around his neck. “Thank you for the sparkles.” He dusts a kiss to Isabel’s temple before looking her way. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she says softly, mustering a smile.

Silence falls over them for a moment before he clears his throat. “I’m sorry,” he says, his eyes falling to her ensemble. “I don’t think I ever got around to asking where you were going.”

“Oh,” she says, shifting on her feet. “Actually, I’m-”

“Look at you!”

Upon hearing the expression, she looks behind her to see Loki, dressed sharply in a navy suit and a baby blue button-up, walking up the steps to her front door. “Oh, hey.”

“You look beautiful, darling,” Loki says, smiling as he leans down to kiss her cheek.

She blinks up at him. “You’re early.”

“I realize that, but I thought maybe you- oh.” As Loki’s gaze falls behind her, his expression fills with genuine surprise. “Oh, pardon me,” Loki says, stepping inside to offer Steve his hand and Isabel a wave. “Pleasure to see you again, Steve. All is well with work, I hope?”

“It is,” Steve says, shaking Loki’s hand.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Loki says. “I thought maybe Natasha might need help getting Isabel’s shoes on. It’s been quite a struggle recently.”

“I was able to bribe her with a cookie,” she finds herself saying, and though she’s not sure why, her voice comes out barely above a whisper.

“You weren’t,” Steve says as if she hadn’t uttered a word, his eyes on Loki. “We were actually just about to leave.” He sets Isabel down on her feet. “Why don’t you say bye to momma?”

As Isabel walks over to her, she bends down to wrap her arms around her. “Have fun, baby girl,” she says, squeezing Isabel tightly. “I love you.” 

Steve already has the baby bag slung over his shoulder and the folded stroller in hand by the time she lets Isabel go. “Let me know if you need me to keep her out a few extra hours,” he says, gesturing for Isabel to take his other hand.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” she says, her eyebrows furrowing.

“Well, if that changes, just let me know,” he says, his gaze going from her and then to Loki before she can get another word in. “Have a nice time.” 

“Thank you,” Loki says, nodding politely.

She follows Steve and Isabel out the door, stopping at the top of the stairs as she watches them carefully make it down one step at a time. “Take care,” she murmurs as they begin to walk down the block, smiling as Isabel looks back to wave at her. 

Loki’s lips tug up as she walks back inside. “Shall we?”

“Sure,” she says, “let me just get my purse.” She makes her way over to the credenza on her right, reaching out to retrieve her clutch, only for her hand to freeze midway at the sight of Steve’s stocking lying face down next to it.

“Natasha?” she hears a beat later, and she looks back to see Loki’s head cocked to the side, his eyes filled with concern as he stares at her. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she says, blinking once before more convincingly adding, “yes.” She quickly reaches for her clutch before smiling. “Let’s go.”

The streets blur by her window as she sits in the passenger seat of Loki’s car, her thoughts a million miles away. This morning, she had told herself that she was overthinking last night’s events. But after seeing how clipped Steve had been in her foyer only moments ago, she knows now that her worries are not unfounded. She knows Steve, knows that his mood just doesn’t swing that quickly, and she wishes desperately that she could know what’s causing it. But, more importantly, it hurts her to know that she’s lost the ability to read him. How she yearns for the days where he was an open book to her, and now she can’t even tell which way the wind blows with him.

“Thank you for accompanying me,” Loki says, breaking her out of her reverie as he reaches over to put a hand on her knee.

“Of course,” she says, watching the way a smile forms on his lips as he keeps his eyes on the road. “I promised you I would, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he confirms. “But I know these charity events can get quite perfunctory, which is why I promise you can get anything you’d like at the bar.”

She chuckles, placing a hand on top of his. “It’s for a good cause,” she says, to which he nods in agreement. “Though I won’t say no to free drinks.” 

* * *

The cocktails she had at the gala are still buzzing faintly in her veins when she walks into her flat later that night with her heels in hand. While Loki was right in predicting that such events could get dull and repetitive, it’s still far from the worst afternoon she’s had. In fact, she has to admit that she enjoyed the last few hours. She didn’t care much for the people flashing their checkbooks, waiting for applause as they flaunted their allegedly innate philanthropy, but knowing that the money raised is being put towards research that could save lives is plenty comforting.

So, too, was seeing Loki in his element. While she’s dropped by the hospital once or twice to grab lunch with him, she’s never actually seen him in action. But with some of his patients in attendance today, she was able to see firsthand how caring he is towards them. She didn’t keep count, but she’s certain that not only did he know each and every one of their names off the top of his head, but also those of their parents. Further sweetening the deal was the fact that his colleagues are a kind and lively group, reminding her so much of the dynamic she had back when she worked with her friends at The Daily. But while Loki and his team could definitely throw down on the dance floor, she doubts they could dethrone a certain bunch somewhere in Midtown Manhattan. She smiles at the thought, and in spite of the nostalgia this day invoked in her, she’s grateful that she had decided to come along.

A door clicks closed just as she pads into her living room, and she looks to the side in time to see Steve emerge from the hallway. “Hey,” he says when he sees her, walking over to the lounger to pick up his coat. “You just missed her.”

“I’ll kiss her goodnight in a bit,” she says. “Did you two have a nice day?”

He nods, slipping his arms into the sleeves of his coat. “You?”

“I did,” she says. “It was nice to get a glimpse of what Loki does.” She smiles softly. “He and his coworkers… they reminded me of when we used to work at The Daily.”

“When you used to work at The Daily, you mean,” he says, his tone wry. “Because I still do.”

Her expression falls. “Okay, what is your problem?” she says, the words coming out more hotly than she’d intended, but what remorse she felt is immediately erased when he responds with a scoff. “You know what? Ever since yesterday you’ve been acting mercurial. If I did something, just tell me, because I haven’t a clue-”

“Oh, you haven’t a clue?” he spits out, chuckling humorlessly and prompting her to glare at him. “Sure, okay.”

“I haven’t!” she says, louder this time, and she pauses to collect herself as they both glance towards the hallway to make sure her outburst hadn’t roused Isabel. When they don’t hear anything, she turns back to him, her voice an octave lower. “But obviously you do, so why don’t you enlighten me?”

If the incredulous stare he gives her is supposed to be a clue, it goes right over her head, only bringing her frustration to a rolling boil. As she lets out an exasperated sigh, he shakes his head. “You know what? Forget it. I never should have come.”

“Are you kidding me?” she says as she follows him down the foyer. “You’re the one who asked to come here in the first place!”

“And now I’m saying it was a mistake,” he says, turning back to her. She takes a step back at that, her eyes narrowing. He sighs. “I’ll drop off Izzie’s gifts tomorrow so she can open it on Christmas morning… But the next time I’ll be back is to take her home to New York with me like we agreed in our contract.”

Her shoulders coil at his words, but as she looks at him to see his jaw set and his eyes anywhere else but on her, she can only give him a curt nod. “I think that’s for the best,” she says, her voice dangerously low.

Wordlessly, he turns away, making it out the door without another glance back at her. She watches as the door swings shut behind him, exhaling at the resounding click that follows as she stands frozen in place. It’s only when her vision blurs that she realizes her eyes have filled with tears, leaving a warm stream down her cheeks as they fall. 

* * *

The scotch burns a hot stripe down Steve’s throat as he takes a generous sip and settles back against the couch, tipping his head back with a sigh. The mini bar had been the first place he had gone to when he arrived back at his hotel suite, hoping that what liquor he could find would distract him from his racing thoughts. And yet, in spite of the warmth he feels rushing to his cheeks, the reprieve he craves feels far from his grasp.

He messed up, that much he knows for certain. The words that had left his mouth as he stood in Natasha’s foyer were hurtful and unwarranted, and he’s felt ashamed of them from the moment the door slammed shut behind him. The pain that had flashed in her eyes when he had brought up their custody agreement – implying that their relationship was nothing more than a means to satisfy a legal document – haunts him, the image playing in his head on loop. He hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t meant to treat her that way. But when she had brought up missing The Daily, as if she wasn’t the one who packed up and left, what little restraint he’d been holding onto since the previous night had dissipated faster than a candle burning in the wind.

Frustration overcomes him at the thought, and he brings a hand up to pinch to pinch the bridge of his nose as he mutters a curse. When he had arrived in London, he had been steadfast in his belief that what feelings he had for Natasha were long buried. That, the friendship they had built over the years was enough to get them through one Christmas together as co-parents. And for the most part, he thought he had been right. The days they spent together roaming the aquarium and decorating cookies were eerily reminiscent of the times they’d go from one gallery to another, exploring the boroughs as they went. But so, too, was the ease with which they just seemed to work effortlessly together, he realizes. When Isabel needed consoling, they didn’t need to utter a word to each other to know that whoever was not picking her up would be the one to run a comforting hand through her hair. Nor did they have to gesture for the other to grab the stroller when Isabel ran off or even ask the other what they wanted before they ordered drinks at a café. They just did it, without much thought, because on some innate level, they already knew.

He lets out a deep sigh as the problem dawns on him. Somewhere between them taking in the scenery and shaking their heads in amusement at their daughter’s antics, Natasha’s laugh had become music to his ears once again. The way her green eyes lit up with happiness as they recounted memories made his heart flip in ways it hadn’t in some time, and the content he felt when he had his arms around her at the bakery was something he hadn’t experienced since she and Isabel had moved away. Everything was all too familiar, and in just a few short days, all the work he had put into convincing himself that he was over her had been erased. But if he knows one thing about history, it’s that it can be a vicious cycle doomed to repeat itself, and as they made it back to Natasha’s flat yesterday, the man standing in her kitchen – buying her groceries and dotting on his daughter – was a reminder that once again, how he felt didn’t matter. 

His heart clenches in his chest, and he nearly misses the coffee table as he sits up and all but slams his tumbler down on the glass. He reaches for his phone in his pocket, checking the time. It’s a little after eight in the evening in New York, and he pauses to cycle through the options in his contacts. He could call Sarah or Wanda, but he’s not certain he can handle hearing their disappointment right now. Tony would do, but knowing him, he’s probably holed up in his lab at this time, so he settles on the only other person he knows would never miss out on an opportunity to set him straight.

“Bucky’s Crisis Hotline,” Bucky says, picking up after the first two rings. “How may I divert your life catastrophe this evening?”

Despite his foul mood, Bucky’s greeting manages to elicit a dry chuckle from him. “Can’t someone just call his friend without needing help these days?”

“Cut the crap, punk,” Bucky says with a scoff. “You text me, sure. But when you call it’s usually because I need to bail you out of some dumbass decision you made. So, cut to the chase already because I’m making Chili.”

“At eight in the evening?” he challenges, letting out another chuckle when Bucky only reiterates the need to get on with it. Bucky could be brash, but he knows his best friend will never sugarcoat his words, which is why he’s seeking his counsel in this moment in the first place. As he sits up straighter, he begins to catch Bucky up on everything that has happened since he arrived and the facts that had dawned on him only moments ago. When he finishes retelling his fight with Natasha earlier this evening, he lets out a long and winded sigh. “I don’t know what to do, Buck.”

“Well, for starters, you can grow a pair and apologize to her,” Bucky says, plain and simple. “I mean, where do you get off saying things like that? You’re the one who asked to visit, remember? And from what I gather, you’re also the one that asked her to spend time with you and Izzie.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” he snaps, running a hand through his hair. “I messed up, Buck. I know that. But everything just happened so fast.”

“I get that,” Bucky says. “And I recognize how much that sucks. But Steve, the answer to your predicament isn’t acting like you’re a five-year-old who can’t use his words and then snapping at her all of a sudden because she can’t read your mind.”

His eyes fall shut. “I know,” he whispers. “Fuck, I know.” 

“Natasha, the mother of your child and the woman you love, deserves better.”

“I never said love,” he says, swallowing the tightness in his throat.

“You didn’t have to, Captain Obvious,” Bucky says indignantly. “You know what? Hold up.” The line cuts off, but just as he pulls the phone away from his ear to see what had caused it, Bucky’s face flashes on his screen with an incoming FaceTime call. He taps the green button, and without missing a beat, Bucky goes on. “Can we just cut the bull here and now? All this time, I’ve held my tongue because I didn’t want to get all up on your business, but this is getting ridiculous.” Bucky lifts a brow at him. “You still love her. Hell, there was no amount of work you could have thrown yourself into these last couple of years that was going to change that.” Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “Tell me I’m wrong.” When he doesn’t respond, Bucky scoffs. “That’s what I thought. Steve, stop this pity party already and call her. Now. Apologize, and while you’re at it, fucking tell her the truth already so she knows you didn’t just lose your goddamn mind!”

“Why?” he presses. “What’s that going to do but make things worse? She’s moved on, and as much as I hate to say it, he seems like a really good guy.” He reaches for his tumbler to take another sip, his tone as bitter as the liquid he’s just swallowed down as he adds, “God knows my daughter just adores him.” As he looks back at the screen, he shakes his head. “It’s too late, Buck.” 

“You know, for someone so smart, sometimes…” Bucky sighs, looking off to the side. “Look, if there’s anything you should have learned by now it’s that withholding the truth doesn’t make things better. If anything, it just festers until all you’re left with is resentment over what could have been.” He turns back to him, his expression serious. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it is too late. But at the very least, you can give her all the facts and let her decide.”

Bucky’s words cause him to look down at his feet, his stomach twisting with dread as he’s reminded of another poignant time Natasha had made a decision. He remembers the morning so vividly, and as he thinks back to it, it really was the moment things began to go wrong. They’d been living together for weeks at that point, and it was the day after Natasha’s pregnancy was deemed no longer in peril. He recalls the smell of her shampoo as he woke up with his arms around her, and how bright her eyes were as she sneakily goaded him into making her waffles. As he made breakfast, it was as if his lips were permanently etched into a smile. Then and there, he had decided that this would be the day he would tell Natasha all he’d been waiting to say – how it stopped being about some contract they signed long ago, how much he wanted them to be a family, and most importantly, how much he loved her.

But then Sharon had showed up at his front door, and before he knew it, the sight of his ex-fiancée was all the motivation Natasha needed to decide that she no longer wanted him. It was that morning that cemented the idea that his feelings were a one-way street, further perpetuated by the custody agreement she’d served him shortly afterwards.

His voice is low as he looks back at Bucky. “What if I can’t?”

Bucky sighs just as a timer goes off behind him. “I have to go,” he says, his tone the softest it’s been since they began talking. “But Steve… the pain you’re feeling now? The pain you’ve been living with these past few years? It exists because you lost something that matters. But believe me when I say that nothing worth having ever comes easy. You want something, you’ll have to fight for it.” He shrugs. “But if you’re too afraid to do that, then… maybe it’s time to let her go.”

The words knock the breath right out of his lungs, but he manages a single nod. “Thanks, Buck.”

Another sigh escapes him as the video cuts off and he clutches his phone in one hand. Let her go. Those three little words echo in his mind as he bows his head. He thought he had. But here they are – him helplessly in love with her and her already moving on – and if this were a movie, he feels as if he’s already seen the ending. Back then, he had been too haunted by the emotional destruction of his past experiences that when things began to go South with him and Natasha, he couldn’t muster the courage to fight for her in fear of getting his heart decimated again. And now, with the possibility of that happening before him once more, he’s still uncertain if he can risk opening himself up to that pain.

Mindlessly, he begins to swipe through his camera feed and smiles when he passes a picture of Isabel beaming from ear to ear at the aquarium. As he thumbs over to the next one, he pauses. It’s the one their guide had taken of the three of them, and as his eyes scan over their matching smiles, he cannot help but note how happy they all look. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he himself looked this happy. It’s with that thought that he lets his mind wander back to the last few days. If he had to think of a recurring theme – from sharing a beer with Natasha to riding in the back of the cab back to her flat – it’s that it just simply felt right. In spite of all the time that had passed and all the circumstances that had led them there, nothing has ever felt more fitting than the three of them together, as a family.

Family.

The word hits him like a freight train, bringing with it a sobering clarity. Perhaps this is what Bucky meant about the things that matter having the highest stakes. The thought is downright terrifying, putting all the defense and coping mechanisms he’s built to avoid this exact hurt on edge. But regardless, it occurs to him that if there’s anything worth sticking his neck out for, if there’s one thing he should risk yet another broken heart for, it’s for Natasha and Isabel – his family.

Before he can give it another thought, his fingers are already scrolling through his contacts again, searching for Natasha’s name. He taps down on it, bringing his phone to his ear and holding his breath as it rings once, twice.

“Hello?” he hears Natasha say, her voice raspy.

“Hi,” he says, and as he catches sight of the clock on the bedside table, he silently chastises himself when the numbers read two a.m. “Sorry I woke you up.”

“You didn’t,” she says, but in spite of that information, he finds that it doesn’t bring him any absolution. Moments pass – seconds, maybe more – but eventually, she lets out a sigh. “I don’t want to fight, Steve.”

“Neither do I,” he assures her. “I called because I couldn’t wait ‘til morning to apologize. I’m so sorry, Nat. I was a jerk. I didn’t mean a single word I said. Not one.”

“Then what did you mean?” she asks, not a trace of malice in her tone.

“I… there’s so much I want to say,” he admits. “So much I have to say. And I know I owe you an explanation right now, but this isn’t something I want to say over the phone.” He sighs. “Is there… is there any way I can come by tomorrow morning? Can we talk then?”

“I have to prepare for Christmas Eve,” she says, but just as his shoulders begin to sag with disappointment, she adds, “but maybe you can come by the party and we can talk after?”

He blinks, confused. “Nat, I- I was so terrible to you.”

“You were,” she says, and he notes that those two words hurt more than anything he’s heard tonight. “But I’m choosing to believe that underneath everything that’s going on… the man I know is still in there somewhere.”

His eyes close at that, and he takes in a breath. “He is, Nat,” he says. “He is. I promise.”

“Good,” she says, her tone more buoyant this time. “So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” 

“Okay,” he says, his chest feeling the lightest it’s been in days. “Thank you, Nat.”

“Goodnight, Steve.” 

* * *

“Isabel.”

At the pointed mention of her name, Isabel looks back, an innocent smile tugging at her lips. “Kenny cane!”

“You’re right,” Steve says, rising from his seat and walking to where she’s standing on the couch with a hand still extended towards the ornaments hanging higher up on the Christmas tree. “That is a candy cane.” In spite of the little whine Isabel lets out as he lifts her up, he collects her into his arms, setting her on his hip. “But you can’t be climbing up the couch, sweetheart. You could hurt yourself.”

Isabel only stares up at him from underneath the fan of her lashes, jutting her bottom lip out in a pout. “Pwease?”

He lets out a chuckle. Trying to feign adamancy when she’s dressed like The Elf on the Shelf is truly a losing battle – but even so, he stands his ground. “Nice try,” he says, kissing her temple, “but safety first.”

“Now that’s an ironclad will if I ever saw one,” he hears someone say, and he turns to see T’Challa smiling at them from his seat at the dining table.

“To be honest, we weren’t sure you were going to survive the puppy dog eyes,” Nakia adds from where she sits next to T’Challa. “But the pout, too? Bravo, Dad.”

“I’m not going to lie,” he says as he makes his way back to them, “I thought I was a goner, too.” He returns to his vacated seat, situating Isabel, who goes back to the crayons she abandoned in lieu of sneaking off to the tree, in his lap. “But unless you never want to have furniture over a foot high ever again, sometimes you’re going to have to make the sacrifice play no matter how cute the distraction techniques get.” He nods towards Nakia’s protruding belly, smiling when T’Challa reaches over to put a hand over her bump. “You’ll find out soon enough.” 

“Don’t give him too much credit though,” Natasha chimes in from across the table, a smirk on her face as she shoots him a knowing look. “Sometimes all she needs to do is bat her eyelashes to get her way with him.”

“Oh, cut the man some slack,” Loki says, his fingers around the stem of his Martini glass. “Those baby blues of hers are plenty compelling and you know it. If none of us stand a chance against her charms, what more her own father?”

“Thank you,” he says, grinning smugly at Natasha when Loki tips his glass towards him in response.

To say that he was thrilled when he arrived at Natasha’s flat this evening to see Loki already there helping her in the kitchen would be a flat out lie. In fact, there was a part of him that felt a touch blindsided in spite of Natasha telling him that she was having a few people over. But as a symbol of his contrition for his actions the previous day, he’d decided to put his feelings aside as he accepted Loki’s offer for a beer. And while conversing with Loki was low on the list of things he wanted to do, he has to admit that the more he’s learned about him, the harder he is to dislike. The man is well-spoken, insightful, and even shares his love for art history. He saves children for a living but isn’t boastful about it, and, though it pains him to accept it, he really does seem to care about Natasha and Isabel.

The same goes for T’Challa and Nakia, both of whom he’s found to be extremely kind, and their dedication to shedding light on global injustices through their work with Natasha at The Pioneer truly inspirational. He’s enjoyed getting to know them this evening, and it’s easy to see why Natasha is drawn to them. For all his worries about spending Christmas Eve here, he notes that he’s glad he’s met the people who have become Natasha’s support system since moving to London.

The sound of Natasha’s laughter prompts him to look her way, and he nuzzles the top of Isabel’s head to hide his smile when he catches her with a hand over her chest as she and Nakia poke fun at T’Challa. Her hair’s the longest he’s ever seen it, cascading down her shoulders in soft, scarlet waves, and he realizes that in the last few days, he’s been so caught up in finding things about her that have remained the same over the last six months that he’s overlooked everything new. More than her hair, there’s her festively decorated flat, and as he looks around the room to see the garlands and the ribbons and the holly scattered around – providing pops of green, gold, and red everywhere – he’s stunned at how far a cry it is from the spartan apartment she had when they first met. But such is the case, he supposes, when you have a daughter to indoctrinate into the holiday festivities and when your home becomes more than just a place to crash between travel assignments as a young journalist.

There’s also the fact that she’s cooking. She had hated the task so much in the past that he was certain it was her mission to order from every restaurant in Manhattan just to avoid it. And now, not only is she cooking up a storm, but such is her confidence that she’s sitting back enjoying a glass of wine while the feast she’s prepared finishes up in the oven. He’s not sure what had led to these changes, but if the sparkle in her eyes is anything to go by, he has to say he’s rather thankful for it. There are many things they are yet to discuss, and though he does not know how their talk might end later, one thing he knows is that he wants nothing more than for her to remain as happy as she looks in this moment.

A timer buzzes, and he blinks to see Natasha pushing her chair back. “That’ll be the roast.”

“Do you need help?” he asks, looking hopefully up at her.

“No, we’ve got it,” she says, smiling at him just as Loki rises next to her. “Just sit back and relax.” 

“Oh, okay,” he says, watching the both of them walk away and finding himself thankful when Isabel tugs on the sleeve of his sweater, seeking attention and successfully making him look away from the hand Loki has on the small of Natasha’s back.

When he had learned that Natasha had taken up cooking the other day at the park, he was surprised, but that’s nothing compared to the awe he feels now as he stares at the elaborate spread on the table before him. Between the perfectly cooked Prime Rib and the plethora of scrumptious sides, it’s clear that not only has she learned her way around the kitchen, but that she’s also become some sort of master chef in her own right. And, judging by the delighted faces around the table, he knows he’s not the only one who thinks so.

“Natasha, this meal is out of this world,” Nakia says, to which everyone hums in agreement.

“It’s absolutely delightful,” Loki concurs.

Natasha beams shyly, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “Well, thank you,” she says. “Admittedly, you guys are my guinea pigs tonight since this is the first full meal I’ve prepared for a group.” Everyone sings her their praises, and it’s not until she’s playfully pointing her knife at him that he realizes he’s grinning. “Not a peep, Rogers.”

“I haven’t said a thing!” he says, chuckling.

“But you were thinking it,” she challenges with a smile before addressing the confused looks around them. “Before I moved here, my cooking repertoire consisted of toast and scrambled eggs. But even then, there were some mishaps.”

“And what say you of her culinary prowess now, Steve?” T’Challa asks, arching a teasing brow at him.

“It’s great,” he says, his eyes never leaving Natasha’s as he shrugs a shoulder. “But so is everything she puts her mind to, so I shouldn’t really be surprised.” 

Slowly, Natasha’s lips quirk up. “Does that mean my gravy is better than yours?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far…” he says, causing her to narrow her eyes at him and he just laughs as he goes back to trying to feed Isabel a forkful of mashed potatoes.

“Let’s not start a gravy war on Christmas Eve, yes?” Nakia says, eliciting laughter from around the table. “Steve, Natasha mentioned that you were working on a gallery extension in California. How’s that coming along?” 

“It’s progressing, finally,” he says, sighing when Isabel turns her head, muttering a no for the third time in a row. He turns apologetically to Nakia, who only shoots him an understanding smile. “Sorry-”

“Let me try,” Natasha interjects softly from across the table, gesturing to Isabel to come over.

With a nod, he puts Isabel down, keeping an eye on her as she walks to the other side of the table. “As I was saying, it’s finally progressing in that we’ve gotten around the red tape and the building is ours for Tony to reconstruct as he pleases. Pepper’s really worked her magic at greasing the wheels of bureaucracy.”

“Is there a thing Pepper Potts can’t pull off?” he hears T’Challa ask, a hint of pride in his voice.

“There really isn’t,” Natasha chimes in with a chuckle, but he’s only partly listening as he watches Isabel walk over to Loki instead. Natasha turns to Isabel, sighing. “Izzie, no. Don’t disturb Loki while he’s eating.”

“That’s alright,” Loki tells Natasha as he picks Isabel up and places her on his lap. “Come here, angel.”

“Steve?”

“Hmm?” he says, turning to see Nakia looking expectantly at him. He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

Nakia smiles. “I was just asking if you think the new gallery will be open in the next few months.”

“Oh, uh…” he says, his gaze falling to Loki and Isabel once more just as Loki successfully gets Isabel to take a bite from his fork. He looks back at Nakia. “We um… we already finished signing all the artists we discovered to contracts granting us exclusive rights to showcase their work, so I believe we will be open soon. March at the latest if the construction goes as planned.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” Nakia says.

T’Challa turns to her. “Perhaps we’ll be able to visit before you’re no longer able to fly, my love.”

“Maybe we can all plan a trip,” Loki adds, causing his eyes to dart to him in time to see Isabel move off his lap. Loki turns to Natasha, smiling. “We do enjoy roaming around galleries, don’t we, Nat?”

If Natasha had said anything in response, he doesn’t hear it as the words tumble out of his mouth before he can give them much thought. “Galleries were our thing.”

Natasha’s eyes are wide as she looks his way, her lips parting, but before she can utter a word, she’s interrupted by a crash. Her head whips in the direction of the living room. “Izzie!”

Isabel’s subsequent wail has him pushing his chair back in an instant, and as he follows Natasha, they rush into the living room and towards the Christmas tree. Natasha is the first to get to Isabel, who’s still crying on the ground with the candy cane ornament clutched in her hand, and his heart drops when he sees the blood gushing from her brow.

“Izzie, baby,” he says, kneeling next to Natasha, who reaches for the box of tissues on the coffee table. “It’s gonna be okay, fig. Momma and Daddy are here.”

“Use this instead,” Loki says, suddenly appearing between him and Natasha and handing Natasha a gauze pad. “Just keep applying pressure.” Loki shifts, turning to him as he tries to get more space to get closer to Isabel. “Move aside, please.”

“I’ve got this,” he says through gritted teeth, refusing to budge.

Loki’s brows furrow. “Steve-”

“I said I’ve got this!” he repeats more forcefully this time. Vaguely, he hears Natasha call out his name in admonishment, but he ignores her as he glares at Loki. “I’m her father, not you.”

“And between the both of us, I’m the one with the M.D.,” Loki retorts heatedly. “So, we can either sit here and argue or you can move aside and let me treat your daughter.” He juts his chin out. “Your call, dad.”

Perhaps it’s the way Loki’s eyes flash with urgency, or the way Isabel’s cries only seem to intensify with every passing second. But before he knows it, he’s moving aside, defeated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested, you can read A Little Favor, the original story, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/34574921).
> 
> For previews and update announcements on this fic (or if you just want to say hi!), follow me on Tumblr: [natrogersfics](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/)


	5. Forever You and Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by: [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/pseuds/Faith2nyc)
> 
> Please do not forget to follow her on [Tumblr](https://faith2nyc.tumblr.com/), [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/faith2nyc_romanogers/), and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Faith2nyc_IG)! :-) 
> 
> Happy reading!

Natasha’s always prided herself in being a master at regulating her emotions. Years of field experience as a journalist has allowed her to hone the skill of taking a step back, drawing in a deep breath, and powering through the job. For regardless of how she personally felt about the matter at hand or how much she despised the person she was interviewing, the objective was to report the unadulterated facts. Right now, though, as she stands in Isabel’s room watching as Loki finishes suturing Isabel’s brow while Steve – who had to step in her place as Loki injected the anesthetic – holds her still, it’s as if her training cannot meet the moment.

Motherhood has transformed her in many ways, but one of the most notable changes is that she’s become a constant worrier. Some days the worry is dull, manageable – propelled by something as simple as whether or not Isabel’s had enough water to drink for the day. Nevertheless, the feeling is always underlying. But there are moments where such is its intensity that breathing becomes arduous, and in spite of the fact that Isabel’s cries have since tapered, she finds that this is one of those times.

“Okay,” Loki says in that saccharine tone she only ever hears him use when addressing Isabel. “That’s a wrap on these pesky needles.” He leans forward, tapping Isabel on the nose and eliciting a tired smile from the little girl. “Good job, Miss Isabel. My best patient without question.”

“She’s going to be okay, right?” Steve asks before she can, and she notes how tight his voice sounds as Isabel turns in his arms and snuggles into the crook of his neck.

“Yes, she will be,” Loki says without a hint of reluctance as he nods at Steve before turning to where she’s standing by the door. “Her reflexes are fine, and she isn’t exhibiting any signs of a concussion. Battle wound notwithstanding, she’s alright.”

The sigh she lets out at Loki’s words is loaded with relief. But the sensation is fleeting, replaced quickly by surprise when she hears Steve speak again. “Thank you, Loki.”

Loki nods once more, a little smile on his face as he balls up the remaining gauze and sutures and throws it into the bin. “The little one should get some rest, so I’ll see myself out,” he says, rising from his seat with his kit in his hands. “I’ll check up on her again in the morning.”

“I’ll walk you out,” she says, stealing a glance to where Steve is rocking Isabel to sleep before stepping out into the hall.

The living room is empty as they make it out, and as she and Loki silently walk towards the direction of her foyer, she catches sight of the note on her dining table with T’Challa’s familiar handwriting. While she feels terribly about having ruined their Christmas Eve, a part of her is glad that she does not have to face them too right at this moment. She lets out a sigh for what seems to be the millionth time in the last hour, turning back to Loki just as they reach her front door.

“Quite an evening, huh?” Loki says, smirking.

In spite of his attempt at humor, she finds that she can only look down. “Loki…” she says. “I-”

“She’s going to be okay, Nat,” Loki says, placing a hand on her arm.

“No, I know.” She looks up at him to find his eyebrows knitted together in question. “I trust you,” she says in clarification. “I trust your assessment. What I meant to say is I’m sorry. I’m sorry for tonight and for how Steve acted when you were just trying to help. I don’t know what happened.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

Loki chuckles quietly, a soft smile forming on his lips when she only stares blankly at him in response. “Is this love, Miss Romanoff?” he asks. “Because it sure looks a lot like it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says, practically scoffing. Loki arches a brow at her, and she sighs. “If tonight's any indication-”

“If tonight's any indication, it’s that there’s obviously a lot that’s been left unsaid,” Loki finishes, shaking his head. “Natasha, my darling, forgive me if I sound like a broken record at this point. But you’re truly one of the brightest people I have had the pleasure of knowing, rivaling perhaps only my own mother for the top spot, so I know it’s only a matter of time.” He reaches to cup her face, running his thumb along her cheekbone. “Open your eyes and listen. For all our sakes.”

“Loki…” she whispers, holding his gaze.

With a smile, Loki leans down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Merry Christmas, Nat.”

“Merry Christmas,” she repeats, mustering a smile as he turns and leaves.

As the door closes behind him, she pads back to the living room, making it as far as the couch until her legs feel too heavy to make it a step further. She sits down, putting her head in her hands as her shoulders sag with fatigue from the last few days. How a night that started out on such a high note devolved so quickly, she can’t begin to process. But if she knows one thing, it’s that she can’t take much more of this.

“Natasha.”

She looks up at the sound of her name to see Steve standing where the hallway and the living room meet. “Is she asleep?” 

“Yes,” he says, moving closer to her. “Nat-”

“Do you know that Izzie has trouble sleeping?” she interrupts, rising to her feet to see him stopped in his tracks. He blinks in surprise, and she nods. “Yeah, there are nights when she’s practically inconsolable… That is until I play her a video with the two of you.” She chuckles humorlessly. “At first I thought it was just a coincidence. And admittedly, there’s a tiny part of me that was wishing that maybe by the time I cave and reach for my phone, that she’s already tired herself out enough to go to sleep. But then I realized that she hasn’t had an episode since you arrived.” She sighs, looking him right in the eyes. “She’s your daughter. I know that. God, if I don’t see that in every little thing she does, every single day. And if there’s ever a time that I made you feel like that wasn’t the case, I am so deeply sorry. That was never my intention. But this?” She shakes her head. “I’m incredibly exhausted, Steve. And not just from tonight. All these years, all I’ve been doing is adjusting to what you want-”

“Excuse me?” he practically spits out, his eyes wide. “What I want?”

“Yes, what you want!” she volleys back bitterly. “You wanted a no-strings-attached arrangement, you got it. Wanted in on our daughter’s life? Check. You wanted to come here for Christmas? I said fine.” She straightens her shoulders, raising her chin. “So, tell me, Steve. What exactly is your problem this time? Because I want this to work, but I am at the end of my rope here.” She sighs, her voice falling to a whisper. “I have nothing left to give you.”

“Nothing left to give me,” he mouths the words, incredulous. “Natasha, all I’ve ever wanted was for you to give me a chance!”

She scoffs. “You’ve had several years’ worth of chances to take, Steve, and I’ve been waiting just as long for even the faintest sign that you wanted one!”

“How was I supposed to know that when all you do is walk away?” he challenges. His words bring her to a pause, and as she stands frozen in place, all she can do is blink. He sighs. “Natasha, I thought everything was going well until that morning in my apartment-”

“Don’t you dare!” she says, throwing her hands out in frustration as she cuts him off. “I woke up to find your ex-fiancée thanking you for selling her back the house you bought together. The very same house that you told me you saw yourself raising a family in. What did you want me to do? Wait around for you to break the news to me when it was clearly standing right at your front door?”

“I wanted you to let me explain!” he says. “Because if you did, then I would have told you that I didn’t sell the house back to Sharon because I didn’t love you and didn’t see a life with you. I did it because I did!” He pauses, sucking in a breath to compose himself. “I didn’t want us to start a life together in a place that I wanted for all the wrong reasons.” He shrugs, defeated. “But then you were serving me a custody agreement so fast my head spun, and then there you were taking the job here before I even had time to recover.”

“I asked you if I had a reason to stay,” she says quietly.

“You did,” he concedes with a nod. “And I should have been brave enough to tell you that you did.” He sighs. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? Because you’ve moved on.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Moved on?”

“Yeah, Nat,” he says. “And you’re damn good at it, too. All you keep doing is moving on, it seems. You’re over me, over us, over New York. And then you’re here, moving on with him-”

“Wait, what?” she interjects.

“Loki,” he says simply, exasperation seeping into his tone. “Look, I’m sorry about how I’ve been acting, but- are you laughing?” His head tilts to the side, and as her laughter escalates, he looks at her like she’s lost her mind. “You’re laughing right now?”

“That’s what this is about?” she says, nearly breathless. “That’s the reason you’ve been acting like a crazy person these last two days?”

“I…” he trails, his forehead wrinkling. “Nat, he has a key to your flat, he’s in your kitchen... He calls you darling.” He scoffs. “I mean, Izzie practically rushes into his arms every time she sees him! And I don’t know how far into your relationship you two are- I mean, I can assume, I suppose. But even if he hasn’t told you, as the world’s leading expert on what it’s like to be in love with you, I’m telling you right now that he is.” His eyes are full of sincerity as he looks at her. “You’re you, Nat. It’s outrageously hard not to love you. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

The fog clears, taking with it all the questions and the doubt that’s plagued her in the last couple of years almost instantly as she stares at him and takes in his words. “Okay,” she says, chuckling as she rubs the back of her neck. “Steve, I’m alone. A lot. Yes, I have Izzie. But after a while, there’s only so much you can talk to a toddler about.” She pauses, and he nods silently in agreement. “And quite frankly, between parenting and working, I don’t get around much, so I don’t have that many friends here. T’Challa? Nakia? They’re out of town, travelling for the paper, as they should be. I see Pepper, what? Once a month if we’re lucky?” She sighs. “Loki’s the only person I can talk to these days because he lives next door and works weird hours. Heck, the only reason we even started talking was because I saw that he liked the same wine and I found out that we agree that men can be the absolute worst-”

“Natasha, I get it,” he interrupts, shaking his head. “And I’m so glad you’ve had someone to talk to. That you’ve found a confidante-”

“Yeah…” she says, raising a brow. “Because it really gets rough out here when men only seem to break our” – she makes sure to emphasize the last word, watching his reaction carefully – “hearts.”

“Right, I know,” he says. “He put you back together when all I did was hurt you. And while I’m devastated to have missed out on the chance to be with you, because I am still, and have always been insanely in love with you, I really do get it. I do. Loki’s a great guy. He’s dreamy, and for crying out loud, he saves babies! And fig loves him. I know that. I’ve accepted it. And the accent…”

“For God’s sake, Rogers,” she mutters, crossing the distance between them. He’s still ranting when she makes it to him, cupping his face in her hands as she pulls him down to her. He groans in surprise when her lips meet his, but just as he begins to respond to her kiss, she pulls away. “Loki’s gay, Steve.” 

For a moment, he only stares at her, lust and confusion swirling in his blue orbs all at once. “Oh…” he says, blinking. His brows furrow as he parts his lips as if to say something, only to press them back into a line. “Oh.”

She bites back a smile. “Yeah… the guy he was seeing broke up with him around the same time Izzie and I moved here.”

“Well, that guy’s dumb…” he mumbles, cringing as he adds, “not unlike me.” His eyes are wide as he turns to her, his expression sheepish. “Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Because that’s not really my information to share,” she points out, to which he nods in concession. “Plus, how was I supposed to know that you wanted to be together too?”

“Too?” he clarifies. “So, I’m not too late?”

“Oh, my God,” she says indignantly. She steps closer to him once more, clutching the collar of his sweater in her hands as she looks right into his eyes. “I am still, and have always been, insanely in love with you too, you big oaf! I-”

Her words are cut off when he lowers his head to slant his lips over hers, his hands falling to her hips to pull her flush to him. Whereas their first kiss had been chaste, this one is hungry, needy – quickly growing teeth and making her head spin in no time at all when she tastes the combination of wine and something wholly and distinctly Steve. She snakes her arms around his neck, rising onto the tips of her toes to card her fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends. He moans her name longingly at that, and she smiles at the way his lips chase hers when she pulls away momentarily, a teasing comment already making its way to the tip of her tongue. But before she can say it, he bends at the knees, scooping her into his arms as he captures her lips in another searing kiss. Then like a practiced dance, she wraps her legs around his waist, letting him walk them down the hall and into her bedroom.

The second he walks in, she sets her feet down, placing her hands flat on his chest and pushing him towards the bed. He falls back onto it, a laugh escaping him as he bounces slightly, but it lasts but a second as she straddles his lap and her lips find his again.

“Natasha,” he says breathlessly between kisses, his hands covering hers as they find their way under his sweater. “Nat, wait-”

“It’s fine,” she says, guiding his hand up her arm and pressing down to let him feel where her implant is as she continues to kiss a trail down his jaw and to his neck. “I’m safe, and there hasn’t been anyone since you.”

The groan he lets out in response is almost pained, and she gasps in surprise when he flips them over, his pupils blown wide as he stares down at her. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Me?” she asks, flummoxed. “You’re the one flying here, showing up in your stupid leather jacket and then parading around my flat without a shirt on!” Her eyes narrow. “Do you have any idea how many cold showers I’ve taken in the last few days?”

His mouth twists into an amused grin. “I told you, Izzie ruined my shirt,” he says, reaching up to brush the hair out of her eyes. “And for the record, there hasn’t been anyone since you, either.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” she asks, desperation slipping into her tone as she squirms underneath him. “Less talking, more stripping!”

He chuckles, and in spite of her patience waning, she finds herself grinning at the sound. “You, Natasha Romanoff, would test the patience of a saint.”

“Did you get canonized recently or something?” she asks, huffing out a breath when he rolls his eyes at her. “Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?”

“I know, baby,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss her again. “And you have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He shakes his head. “How much I want you.” Even as his eyes have grown dark and stormy, the pining in them is as clear as day, making the blood sing in her veins. “But I don’t want to rush this, Nat. I want to start over. I want-” He pauses, taking in a deep breath. “I need to get this right.”

“But it is right.” She moves to sit up, prompting him to sit back on his knees. “Steve, I thought that everything that happened between us was proof that we were a mistake, that everything I’ve been holding onto was a lie.” He looks down at his lap, his expression twisting as if he’s reliving the pain of the last couple of years all over again. “Hey, look at me,” she says, reaching over to hook a finger under his chin, tilting his head up. “I was wrong.” She shakes her head. “The last twenty-four hours notwithstanding, I haven’t been as happy as I’ve been these last few days in a long, long time. I won’t speak for you, but-”

“It’s the same for me,” he interrupts without a trace of hesitation in his voice, holding her gaze. “Exactly the same, Nat.”

She smiles. “Then if there’s something I know for sure now, it’s that you, me… fig. It’s right. It’s always been right.” She sighs, running her thumb over his jawline. “I love you, Steve. I want to be with you. So please, no more waiting. No more wasting time.”

It takes a beat, but then he’s surging forward to kiss her, pushing her onto her back once more as her arms wrap around his neck. “I love you,” he whispers against her lips. “I love you so damn much.”

“Then show me,” she says, smiling when with a groan, he pulls away and lets his hands trail to the hem of her blouse, pulling it up and off of her. She leans up on her elbows as he sits back again, letting her gaze trail hungrily down his chest and to the smooth planes of his stomach as he reaches behind him to rid himself of his sweater.

“See something you like?” he asks, smirking when he catches her staring.

She peers up at him from underneath her lashes. “More like something I need.”

“Good,” he says, causing the breath to get caught in her throat at the way his eyes flash. “So do I.”

He brings his lips back to hers, reaching behind her to undo the clasp of her bra, and she slides it off her arms when it comes loose around her before throwing it unceremoniously to the floor. Gently, he pushes her shoulder, guiding her back down as he peppers kisses down the column of her throat and lets his hands wander over her torso. He cups the swell of her breast, ghosting a thumb over her nipple, and she feels him smile against her skin at the gasp that slips from her lips.

“Steve.” She sighs his name brokenly when his mouth moves from her neck to her sternum, worshipping every inch of skin it finds in its trail. It’s when his lips hover past her navel, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her leggings that she places her hands over his, keeping them in place.

He moves back up her body to look her in the eyes. “Let me,” he says the same time she tells him he does not have to, and as she blinks up at him, chest heaving, he smiles softly. “Can I, Nat?”

There’s an undercurrent of desperation in the way he asks the question, as if he needs this – craves this – and despite how much she aches to feel him against her, to have his skin against hers, when she takes in the unadulterated desire in his eyes, she finds herself powerless to do anything but nod. She lets go of his hands, biting her lip in anticipation as he moves back down her body. Cool air skims over her newly exposed skin as he pulls her leggings down along with her panties, making her shiver as her heart picks up in her chest, and she gasps when he presses a kiss to the inside of her thigh, propping one of her legs over his shoulder.

“Steve,” she moans loudly – wantonly – into the darkness of the room when he licks up her center. Her head falls to the side, her hands scrambling for purchase on the duvet as a litany of curses slip from her lips, and that’s all he needs to hear to bring his hands to her waist, holding her still as he flicks his tongue against her bundle of nerves. The sensation that pulses through her is almost too much too fast, but her body craves it all the same, and she bites her lip to keep from laughing out. It’s pathetic that he has her teetering off the edge this quickly, this suddenly, but at the same time, she’s not surprised. He learned her body long ago, and she’s infinitely glad that in spite of the time that’s passed since they’ve last been together like this, he still knows it like the back of his hand. It’s when he pushes two fingers into her, curling them as they work in tandem with his tongue that she finally keens, her vision a white-hot blur as she calls out his name.

“Hi,” he whispers when she finally opens her eyes moments later, her heart still ringing in her ears. “You still with me?” His lips turn up in a boyish smile when she nods. “Good.”

He pulls away from her, and despite her first orgasm still coursing hotly through her veins, she whines at the loss of contact. “Steve.”

“I’m here, Nat,” he says, returning to bracket her body with his own after making short work of his pants. When she attempts to pull him down to her, he chuckles. “Remind me again where Izzie got her impatience from?”

“Want you,” she says, ignoring his quip and not caring one bit about how desperate her tone has gotten. “Want you now.” He smiles, but it’s quickly replaced by a groan when she reaches between them, wrapping a hand around his length.

“Fuck,” he all but growls, his eyes slamming shut as she begins to pump her hand up and then down. “Natasha.” 

“Please,” she says, her breath hot against his ear, and that’s all she has to say to make him shift his weight onto his forearms as she guides him to her entrance, hissing when he brushes up against her. A gasp falls from her lips, her toes curling into the sheets as he begins to sink into her, inch by inch, and it isn’t until he’s bottomed out that she realizes how much she’s missed this feeling – how much she’s missed him. He leans down, brushing her lips with his own, and making her crave the friction that much more. “Steve,” she calls out, digging her nails into his back. He looks down at her, his jaw clenched, and only then does it dawn on her that he’s stilled for her benefit. “It’s okay,” she promises as his eyes search hers for affirmation. She smiles. “Move, baby.”

With a nod, he begins to roll his hips, drawing out a mewl from her as his lips find her collarbone. She knows there’ll be marks tomorrow, but she can’t bring herself to care. The lazy snap of his hips coupled with the warmth of his mouth on her skin as he nips and teases is addictive, dizzying, and she wants more. She needs more. With that, she wraps her legs around his waist, pushing the heels of her feet into his lower back, encouraging him to go deeper, faster. He groans, the last of his restraint seemingly crumbling when he intertwines their fingers and pins their hands above her head, picking up the pace and making her gasp at the delicious shift in angle.

Pleasure curls in her gut in no time at all, coiling tightly, and it isn’t until he’s shushing her gently that she realizes her moans have grown louder. “I’ve got you,” he says, whispering the words and other sweet nothings into her lips again and again. “I’ve got you, Nat. With me, okay?”

She manages a nod, catching the smile that forms on his lips. And then he’s slipping a hand down between them, making her back bow off the mattress as he thumbs at her bundle of nerves. Her belly clenches as pleasure pulses rapidly through every synapse, every nerve, and though she could feel it coming, a surprised gasp still slips from her lips when her orgasm washes over her, stealing the air right out of her lungs. He kisses her as she tumbles over the edge, pushing into her once, twice, and then with a grunt, he goes still, following her right into the abyss.

Quiet settles over them, their labored breathing the only sound as they come down from their highs. Her body hasn’t completely stopped trembling when he pulls out of her, eliciting a whimper from her as he brushes against her still sensitive flesh, and he kisses her temple consolingly as he shifts onto his back and pulls her to him.

“I’m sorry,” he says later on when their breathing comes back to normal. She lifts her head off his chest to look at him, her eyebrows knitting when she finds his eyes filled with contrition. He sighs. “I’m sorry for not fighting for you… for us, sooner.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “We’ve both made mistakes.” She reaches up to push the hair out of his forehead. “I’m sorry for assuming… well, everything. And for not giving you a chance to explain.”

He takes her hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Any chance there’s still one in those years’ worth of chances that’s still up for grabs?”

She smiles. “I think so.” 

* * *

She’s warm. That’s the first thing that comes to Natasha’s mind when she stirs awake, her eyes blinking as they adjust to the pale morning light. But as her vision focuses, she realizes the warmth she’s feeling has less to do with the comforter she’s cocooned in and more with the arm draped over her waist. She turns to her other side to see Steve, his outrageously long lashes fanned out against his cheeks as he sleeps, and as memories of the last few hours come flooding back to her, she smiles.

It was past midnight when they finally found the wherewithal to clean the remnants of the feast she prepared, sharing a plate of leftovers and a few glasses of wine as they transferred the food into containers and loaded the dishwasher. They’d even gotten around to wrapping the last of Isabel’s Christmas presents, laying them neatly under the tree before finding themselves a tangled mess of limbs on her bed again, taking their sweet time this time around to get reacquainted with one another. After, they’d spent the rest of the night talking, laughing, and though they’d spent many nights like this in the past, this time felt significantly different. They still had so much to discuss, but with all their cards on the table, it’s as if their conversations – their plans – finally had a shot at permanence, a chance to become reality, and it would be a lie to say that the idea didn’t make her heart absolutely sing. 

“You’re staring.”

Steve’s voice interrupts her musing, and she chuckles when she looks to find his eyes already open. “Some people find that romantic, you know.”

“In movies, maybe,” he says through a yawn. “But in real life, it’s just creepy.” She glares at him, giving his chest a shove, and he grins sleepily as he pulls her in for a kiss. “Merry Christmas, Natasha Romanoff.”

“Merry Christmas,” she whispers back, beaming.

He brings a hand to her hip, rubbing circles into her skin with his thumb. “You okay?”

The question causes her to bite her lip, stifling a smirk. It’s not as if last night was their first time – one need not look further than their daughter sleeping down the hall for proof – and yet, it was such a Steve thing to ask. She smiles. “Never better.”

Had it been any other morning, she might have called him out on the smug smile that crosses his lips, but she decides that today, she’ll let him have it. “So, tell me,” he says. “At what point in the last six months did you become a morning person?”

“It’s cute that you think your daughter let me have a say in the matter,” she deadpans, reaching up to cup his face and letting out a contented sigh. “And I’m just happy.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling her over him until she’s straddling his hips. “How happy?”

“I think…” she says, biting her lip as she leans down to whisper in his ear, “I’d rather show you than tell you.” He raises a curious brow at her as she pulls away, watching her carefully as she kisses her way down his neck, and she smiles when she feels his skin prickle under her lips.

“Hi!”

They both freeze at the greeting, sharing a wide-eyed stare with each other before turning to see Isabel watching them by the doorway, her stuffed Corgi in hand. “Oh, my God, Izzie,” she says, quickly grabbing her robe that’s dangling on the bedpost and wrapping it around herself. She hops off the bed, managing to throw Steve his boxers before she makes it to Isabel, bending down to pick her up. “How did you get out of your crib, babe?”

Isabel’s only response is to laugh, waving over her shoulder. “Hi, Dada!”

She turns just as Steve emerges from under the comforter. “Hi, fig.”

“You good over there?” she asks, biting back a smile.

He shoots her a withering look as she makes her way back to the bed. “Come here, you little escape artist,” he says, reaching for Isabel and making her giggle as he smothers her with kisses. “What did we say about climbing things?”

“Pwe-sents!” Isabel says, smiling widely.

He chuckles, turning to her just as she settles down next to him, leaning back against the headboard. “Do you want to have breakfast first?”

“No,” Isabel answers before she can get a word in, prompting them both to shake their head in amusement.

“In case you haven’t noticed, she’s kind of the boss around here” she says, smirking.

He laughs. “Presents it is.”

* * *

The floor of her living room is a sea of torn up wrapper and discarded ribbon, but as she brings her mug of hot chocolate to her lips, she finds that she couldn’t care less about the sprawling mess as she watches Steve help Isabel rip open her presents. For her part, she’s dutifully played photographer, cataloguing Isabel’s reaction to each gift – as requested by the competitive bunch of aunts, uncles, and grandparents all hellbent on one-upping each other.

“Last one, Iz,” Steve says, handing her a rectangular box.

“What is it?” she prompts excitedly as she puts her mug down to hold the camera back up, capturing the moment Isabel gets the last of the wrapper off and pulls the item out.

“Hat!” Isabel says, turning in Steve’s lap to show him.

“Close,” Steve says, nearly chuckling at the way Isabel’s brows furrow in dismay at his response. “It’s called a beanie. Though it’s just not any other beanie.” He looks her way as he adds, “It’s a beanie uncle Buck chose.”

The laugh slips freely from her lips. “Oh no!”

“Oh yes,” he confirms, his fingers feeling for something in the fabric. “Tada!”

“Wow!” Isabel exclaims, her big blue eyes filling with elation as the antlers on the Reindeer beanie light up, the array of colorful lights twinkling brightly. “Am-a-zing!”

“You hear that?” Steve asks, shooting her a smile. “It’s am-a-zing!” He turns to Isabel, pointing at the camera. “Say, thank you, Uncle Buck.”

“Thanks Buck!” Isabel says.

She chuckles as she cuts the video and rises to her feet. “I hope you still think it’s am-a-zing when she wants to go out in public with that thing,” she tells him in a sing-song voice as she opens up a trash bag and begins to collect the discarded wrapper.

“You mock the beanie now,” he says, standing when Isabel runs off to play with her new mountain of toys. “But when she runs off and the lights make her easy to spot, you might be singing a different tune.”

“The faith you have in our daughter keeping something on her head for more than five minutes is inspirational,” she says, turning to see him grab more wrapper off the floor. “Truly, it is.” She laughs as he rolls his eyes, slipping the bunch he has in his hand into the bag she’s holding as he comes to stand in front of her. “Is that everything?”

“As far as the wrapper’s concerned, yes,” he says, smiling as he produces a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “But you still haven’t opened this.”

Her eyebrows furrow as she takes the paper from him. “Who’s this from?”

“Me,” he says simply.

“Steve.” His name falls from her lips like a chastisement, and she can only sigh when his response is to encourage her to open it. “Well, now I feel bad,” she says as her fingers work to unfold the paper. “I got you that gift from the aquarium to be funny and then you got me that book, and now…” Her words trail off as she opens the paper all the way, her eyes scanning over what’s scrawled out on it:

**_Will you go out on a date with me?_ **

“I meant what I said about starting over,” he says when she looks up. “Or, at least, doing the parts we skipped.” His lips twist into a smile. “And I figured since contracts seem to be our thing, maybe you’d say yes if I asked you in writing.”

“You’re kidding, right?” she asks even as her lips turn up in amusement.

“I’m completely serious,” he says, shrugging at the incredulous stare she sends his way. “We could get dressed up, go to dinner and a movie…” He wiggles his eyebrows as he adds, “maybe even make out in the back of the theater.” She snorts at that last bit, and he smiles. “What do you say?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, okay?” she says, her expression growing serious. “But Steve, usually, a guy asks a girl out before she has his baby.”

When she smiles, he throws his head back, laughing. “Okay, well, usually a girl agrees to go out with a guy before she asks him to have a baby with her, so I guess we’re not really into chronology here.” He smirks as she narrows his eyes playfully at him. “Besides, your manufactured indignation would be a lot more convincing if you didn’t practically jump my bones last night.” 

She gasps at that, stealing a quick glance over at Isabel to make sure she’s not listening before looking back at him, lowering her voice. “Oh, fuck you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, a glint in his eyes as he pulls her to him. “Is that not what you were doing last night?”

“Whatever,” she says, unable to keep a smile from forming on her lips. “Fine. Yes, I will go out on a date with you.” His eyes light up at that, and she holds a finger up. “But if you give me another note at the end asking me to go steady, I’m leaving.”

He beams. “Yes, ma’am.” 

She rises to the tips of her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck as his mouth finds hers for what feels like the millionth time this morning. The taste of his lips mingled with the hot chocolate they were sipping on is a heavy combination, and she lets out a happy sigh into their kiss when his hands curl around her waist, his thumb brushing against the patch of skin left exposed between her shirt and her pajamas. She nips at his bottom lip, making him groan, and it’s only when they hear someone clearing their throat that they pull away and she moves to look behind Steve.

“Sorry,” Loki says from where he leans by the doorway of her living room, his arms crossed over his chest as he grins from ear to ear. “I only came to check on the little one. I swear I knocked, but um…” 

She bites her bottom lip just as Steve turns as well, but before she can say anything, Isabel is already up and running. “Yo-ki!”

“Well, hello there,” Loki says, picking Isabel up. “Someone’s chipper on this Christmas morning, I see. I’ve come to check on your stitches, which I tried to tell your Mum and Dad” – he turns back to them, smirking – “but they were busy.”

“Stitches, right,” she says a little too loudly, pointing towards the couch to hide her blush. “After you, Doc.” 

Loki asks them a few of routine questions about Isabel as he sets his medical kit down on the coffee table, and as she and Steve take turns answering them and sharing their observations, she realizes that it’s nice to know that someone else was quietly sharing her worries throughout the night, picking up on the little things she was finding as well. They go silent as Loki begins to examine Isabel, checking her reflexes and changing the bandage covering her stitches.

“Okay,” Loki says, finally breaking the tense silence that had fallen over them. “This sweetheart is free to play with all her Christmas goodies.” 

“Yeah?” she says. “Everything looks good?”

“Everything’s just splendid,” Loki says, turning to her and Steve as he helps Isabel off the couch. He drops the flashlight into his kit, zipping it up. “She’s not exhibiting any signs of a concussion and her stitches are healing up well and should dissolve on their own fairly soon.”

“Thank God,” Steve says, relief thick in his voice, and she finds herself nodding along to the sentiment.

“Thank you for coming to check on her,” she tells Loki, who only smiles in return. “I owe you one.”

“As do I,” Steve adds. “Any chance we could start the repayment with some breakfast?”

“I appreciate the offer, but actually the reason I came by early is because I’m on my way to my mother’s,” Loki says, smiling as he nods towards the both of them. “It’s nice to see you two have patched things up, though.”

“Yeah, about that,” Steve says. “Loki, I’m sorry for my behavior last night. There’s no excuse. I was an ass.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright,” Loki says, waving off his apology.

Steve shakes his head. “It’s not. I-”

“He thought you and I were together,” she blurts out suddenly, smiling when Steve’s eyes widen, a sheepish expression breaking out on his face. 

“Well, that explains a lot,” Loki says, grinning graciously as his gaze goes from her to Steve. “In any case, I’m flattered that you’d consider me a worthy adversary.”

She smirks. “He also thinks you’re dreamy.”

“Does he now?” Loki asks, clearly amused.

“And on that note,” Steve says, turning to glare at her. “I think I hear our daughter calling.”

She and Loki snicker as Steve, ears red, walks away. “You sure you can’t stay?” she asks. “It won’t even take ten minutes to get the waffles going.”

“I’m sorry, darling,” Loki says as they begin to make their way towards her front door. “I don’t want to hit traffic and you know my mother will kill me if I so much as have a bite before I come to her home.”

“Tell Frigga I said hello then,” she says as she opens the door, leaning against it.

“Oh, believe me, that’s not the only thing I’ll be telling her,” he says, smirking as he gestures to her collarbone. She looks down, and he laughs as she adjusts the collar of her shirt to hide the mark still there. “Long night, was it?” She shoots him a withering look as he leans down to kiss her cheek, cocking a brow up at her. “I fully expect a detailed play by play when I get back.”

She chuckles, shoving him away playfully. “Get out of here!”

Loki smiles. “I’m happy for you, Nat.”

“Thank you,” she says with a nod. “Merry Christmas.”

With a wink, Loki waves goodbye, and she waits for him to make it down the stairs before shutting the door. She walks back to the living room, stopping just by the threshold to see Steve carrying Isabel as they both peer out the window. She smiles. “What are you two goofs up to?” 

“Is ’nowing!” Isabel says, pointing out the window as Steve turns.

“Is it?” she asks as she pads to them, making a show of checking out the window. “It is! Maybe if there’s enough later, we can go outside and try to make Olaf.”

Steve’s brow rises in question. “Who’s Olaf?”

“Glad you asked,” she says at the same time Isabel utters snowman. Steve only stares blankly at them, making her laugh. “Don’t worry, you’ll get acquainted with him, Elsa, and Anna... Probably three times before this morning is over, if you’re lucky.”

“Still don’t know who those people are,” he says, pulling her in with his other hand until she’s pressed up against his side. “But I’ll gladly find out if you two introduce me.”

“What’s the saying again?” she muses, looking up teasingly at him. “Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it?”

He grins. “I think I may already have.”

The affection that fills his eyes is so remarkably perspicuous that she wonders how she’s missed it all these years, and as her lips turn up to mirror his smile, she makes a silent vow to never doubt its existence ever again. He leans down, but before his lips can meet hers, Isabel turns in his arms, effectively wedging herself between them.

“Mish-tow!” Isabel says, pointing above them.

They both laugh as they look up, and sure enough, the bundle of mistletoe she had put up yesterday looms above them. She smirks. “You know what that means, right?”

“I think I do,” he says, nodding knowingly as they both turn to Isabel, who’s watching them curiously.

“Fig sandwich!” they both yell as they lean in, pressing a kiss to Isabel’s cheeks and delighting in the way their daughter’s joyous laughter echoes throughout the room.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End. 
> 
> Special thanks to [Samtuma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samtuma) and [Faith2nyc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faith2nyc/pseuds/Faith2nyc)! I would have never been able to write this fic without the both of you. Thank you for all the time you put into this story, for answering every single one of my "wouldn't it be funny if..." texts, and for reading through all my messy drafts. Much love to you both! 
> 
> Shout out to Kellen and TheJollyRoger for their A+ detective skills in the last chapter :-)
> 
> Thank you all for reading! 
> 
> If you’re interested, you can read A Little Favor, the original story, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924780/chapters/34574921).
> 
> Tumblr: [natrogersfics](https://natrogersfics.tumblr.com/)


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